Somewhere In Between
by Loke
Summary: Kidnapped and held captive by her brother’s enemy, Emily Quartermaine finds out exactly what it means to be torn between the life you know, the people you love, and the one person you have every reason to hate. NEmLorenzo, Journey, CarSon.
1. Letting Down, Pushing Up

**Title:** Somewhere In Between

**Author: **Loke

**Summary:** Kidnapped and held captive by her brother's enemy, Emily Quartermaine is about to find out exactly what it's like to be torn between the life you know, the people you love, and the one person you have every reason to hate. NEm/Lorenzo, Journey, CarSon

**Category: **Angst/Drama/Romance

**Authors Note: **Hey all. I am pretty much newbie to the fanfic world and this is my very first GH story, but the idea had been rattling around in my head for few weeks now, and I had to get it down before I went nuts. I wanted to clear up a few things about the story before we get started. First off, Ric botches his attempt at kidnapping Carly, and that's what sets off the story, Ric's failure and Alcazar having no choice but to sort of pick up where Ric left off. Next up, and this is a big one but necessary for the story, Emily has come home just as she did a few months ago, but she _doesn't_ have cancer. Emily is perfectly healthy, and also perfectly detached from Zander. Her and Zander did not re-connect when she came home. Instead I'm having her rediscover the four musketeers part of her life, by spending more time with Nikolas, Lucky and Liz. There was a bond between those four that I really miss, and one that I hope the real show gets back to soon, oh, I almost forgot, Lydia and Summer… they don't exist. They just didn't 'fit' into the story that well, so I axed 'em. And the other bond that I wanted to bring to the front burner was the incredible brother/sister relationship between Jason and Emily. It (hopefully) will be the driving force of the fic, and sort of the focus. Other than those few things, everything in Port Charles is pretty much as is. Well, now that that's over… lets get started. J I hope you guys enjoy it!

**Pairings: ** Because I wanted to do this story pretty much in the current time frame of the show, I'm using most the same couples that are on at the moment. So basically, the pairings are: Sonny/Carly, Jason/Courtney (I couldn't bare to do too much of this one, but oh well, the seem to do okay together), Ric/Liz, Zander/Gia (a mention here and there) and my new absolute favorite, Nikolas/Emily, and some strong, old school Emily/Lucky friendship stuff… triangle maybe? I'm not sure yet.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters related to "General Hospital". I only borrow them and torment them for my own amusement. Miguel Garcia-Covas is, however, purely my creation.

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**Chapter One: Letting Down, Pushing Up**

Business partners who harbor passionate agendas will always, at some point and time, bring about their own undoing, and if you aren't careful, yours as well. It was a lesson he had learned on a deeply personal level, and one that should have, under normal circumstances, steered him clear of Ric Lansing, and everything his brother's former moneyman had in mind. But the circumstances were anything but normal, and Lorenzo Alcazar had spent more than enough time delaying the reality of the situation. His usage of Sonny Corinthos' territory for the trafficking of his 'product' would no longer be gained through quiet, civilized business dealings. The time for reason had long since passed, and Alcazar was wearing thin on patience. So, as the saying goes, he did what he had to do. He aligned himself with a madman.

Lorenzo Alcazar had much experience taking advantage of the blind desires of desperate men. It was a practice that had found him face-to-face with many a dark and twisted individual, and all in the name of business, and the expansion of his brother's empire. He had seen the worst of men, ones who were at their rope's end, frantically grasping at any semblance of hope, and he had used it to his advantage every time. It still amazed him as to how incredibly generous a desperate man could be. But Ric Lansing had done from the beginning what few of those men ever had: unnerved him. The man was just unbalanced, and in turn, more dangerous than anyone could possibly imagine. But, just because Alcazar was adept at manipulating the emotionally and financially fraught for his own gain, didn't mean he wasn't just as much of a slave to his own stresses. As much as he hated to admit it, he, himself, was desperate. Extremely so. He needed Sonny's docks, and with his back firmly against the wall, waiting became impossible. So, even though latching onto Ric's twisted plans for Carly Corinthos had clearly not been his favorite means to an end, it at the moment had been his only recourse, and one that by some chance, appeared to have great potential. Or _would_ have, had that maniacal bastard not just sent all his promising outcomes, plummeting into oblivion…

-----

"What do you mean 'she got away'?" Lorenzo Alcazar stood, his left hand tucked away within his pocket, while the other tensely gripped the small cell phone he held up to his ear.

"_She got away from him… he didn't even manage to get her into the car," said the raspy voice on the other end._

"How?" The words seemed more a command than a question, a cold fury taking hold of his voice.

"_A well placed kick, left Lansing seeing stars no doubt," sneered the man. _

Lorenzo drew in a deep breath. Now was not the time to shoot the messenger, now was the time to locate his associate and find out how in the hell he let someone as harmless as Carly Corinthos escape his grasp.

"Where is he now?"

"_He's at the corner of Chestnut and Harper, looks to be on his way home."_

_Home?_ _How careless could Lansing be?_ Lorenzo quickly found himself regretting his decision to go along with Ric's fiendish plot. If Lansing would be sloppy enough to go home after botching the job on Carly, then ratting Alcazar out in and effort to save his own tail could definitely become his next misstep. If Sonny found out about Lorenzo's involvement too early, and in a _failed_ attempt no less, it would only be a matter of time before Corinthos' vengeful mind sought him out, effectively crushing any hopes he had at attaining usage of Sonny's ports. _Damn it, Ric…_

"Stay on him. I'm on my way."

"_Yes, sir."_

**----------**

Courtney Matthews, still clad in her sparking white, silk brocade wedding gown, kneeled before a visibly shaken Carly Corinthos, her hands resting on the other woman's knees. "It's going to be okay, Carly," she said softly. "Sonny and Jason are gonna find who did this."

Carly looked up, meeting her sister-in-law's concerned gaze, and gave a small, hesitant nod. "I know Court, I know…" Inwardly, Carly winced at the sound of her own voice. It sounded small and wobbly. It sounded nothing like her.

Courtney hated when Carly did this, when she tried to sweep it all away and pretend just because she wanted everyone to believe she was strong. Carly had been through so much over the last few weeks, and now this… She shouldn't have to pretend. Everyone is allowed a breaking point. Everyone. "Carly, don't," she pleaded softly. "Don't put up the brave front, okay? Someone just tried to kidnap you; it's all right to be upset."

"Courtney, I'm fine… a little shaken up, but fine," she said, smiling bravely, her eyes giving her away. "I just wish Sonny would get back. I need him here…" Carly's voice fell away as her tired eyes focused on the penthouse door, as if she was willing it to open, and bring her husband home.

Almost immediately after bringing them back, Sonny and Jason tore out of the penthouse, their minds set on one thing: tracking down the bastard who tried to abduct her. Only, Carly wasn't sure what good it would do. She barely gave them anything to go on, just that the guy was tall and well built. The darkness of the church veranda, and her own panic, had prevented her from noticing much else. She was convinced it would be a wasted pursuit, and she had tried to convince _them_ of that, but as usual her words of reason fell on deaf ears.

Tucking a slip of hair behind Carly's ear, Courtney drew her sister-in-law into a hug. "He'll be back, sweetie. They _both_ will. Just hang in there, okay?"

Closing her eyes, a ragged breath shuddered through her small body. "That's all we ever seem to do."

----------

"It couldn't have been him, Jason." Sonny Corinthos watched cautiously as his long time friend and enforcer, paced angrily before him.

Jason Morgan drew in a frustrated breath and halted his steps. "Who else would want to hurt you like this, Sonny?" he demanded, closing the distance between them. "Who else?"

"Well, the list isn't exactly short."

"That's not what I mean." Jason could feel his patience fading a little more with every second that passed. Why couldn't Sonny just open his eyes? The truth was right there; he just had to _look_. "This is different, Sonny, and you know it. I'm telling you, that sick bastard is the only one who would have the gall to do something like this, the _only_ one."

He wasn't sure where his conviction on the subject came from, but what he did know was that Ric had made him a promise, one Sonny wanted to have faith in. Sonny crossed his arms in front of him and leaned back on his heels, observing his friend for a moment. Jason had so much anger pent up inside, and all of it, every last ounce was reserved for Sonny's brother. It was a thought that left Sonny uneasy, because there were too many bad things that could result from that kind of blind hate. Ric was living proof of that. "You need to get past your hatred for Ric, Jason," he said quietly. "It's won't do us any good."

Call him brain damaged if you will, but Jason Morgan wasn't completely gone. He knew what a man in denial looked like, and at this moment it was the very picture of his boss. "Look, I know how important family is to you, and that you don't want to see this but—" Jason tried to continue, but Sonny put up a hand in protest.

"No, Jason… this has nothing to do with that."

"Would you just _trust_ me? It was Ric, Sonny. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Sonny tilted his brow warningly. "Jason…"

"Ric hates you. He wants nothing more than to see you lose everything you love, everything you hold dear. He wants to destroy you, Sonny. What better way to get to go about that than kidnapping your _pregnant_ wife?"

"He wants peace, and I believe him. You're the one who can't let go of this, Jason."

"Sonny, just—"

Waving a hand, he halted Jason midstream. "Enough! You are allowing your personal feelings towards my brother to cloud your judgment, and it needs to stop." Sonny paused, looking off at something in the distance, and then back at his enforcer. "Carly said herself that she didn't get a good enough look at the guy. The church veranda was too dark, and she was too shaken up to take notice. All she could tell us was that he was tall… and from that you get Ric? How does that work, Jason? Where's your head?"

Shrugging off Sonny's words, Jason pushed on, counting down his reasons. "He had the motive, the opportunity—"

"You need to drop this, Jason, and you need to do it now." Sonny focused his mounting anger on the man before him. "We need to find out who really tried to kidnap my wife, and to do that I need your head in this, not off somewhere plotting Ric's demise, okay?" Taking a step closer, Sonny placed his hands on Jason's shoulders and bore into him with a stare that was as cold and as stern as his tone. "Unless you can do that, Jason, you are _useless_ to me. Do you understand?"

He had gotten good at quelling his anger over the years, at keeping it down until just the right moment, until a moment when it would be needed. Jason realized that though Sonny was allowing Ric to blind him to the truth, now was not the time to convince Sonny of that. No, that moment would come later, and until then Jason would have to keep his suspicions to himself, be Sonny's good little soldier and fall in line. "Fine," he said, his jaw set, his voice low.

Releasing Jason and watching him join Francis and Johnny at the far end of the dock, Sonny wanted to believe that he was genuine. But something deep down told him Jason was far from finished with Ric. And for some reason, Sonny couldn't shake the intense feeling of foreboding that had settled in his gut. Like somehow the tragedy that had almost befallen his family a few hours ago, was only the beginning of their troubles.

----------

Emerging from the dark that shrouded the Lasing home, Lorenzo Alcazar stepped beside a tall, dark-haired man, known as Pedro, who stood hidden, just outside the reach of Ric's security cameras. "How long ago did he get here?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Ric's front door.

Pedro pushed up his coat sleeve and shot a glance at his watch. "Ten minutes, give or take."

"Is he alone?"

Pedro nodded. "Mrs. Lansing took off a few minutes ago… in quite a huff."

This caught Lorenzo's attention. "Huff?" he asked, floating the other man a questioning glance.

"I guess the honeymoon's over," Pedro laughed sarcastically. "It is a shame though; she's a gorgeous little thing."

Lorenzo leaned back and pitched his gaze back toward the Lansing home, noticing what appeared to be a very agitated Ric through the living room window. The man was a wreck; pacing circles around himself and constantly running his hands over his face. _Pathetic…_

"No… I don't believe Elizabeth's charms are lost on Ric, yet. In fact, I think he's still hopelessly in love with her. Which means," he said, a snide grin overtaking his features. "She could still prove very useful."

Biting back the unwise urge to scoff, Pedro shook his head. "That might be, but from what I saw, I won't give this marriage much longer, not if he doesn't loosen that leash she's on."

"Possibly," he paused, tucking his hands into his pockets. "But she is at the current time still his wife, and just the edge I need to finally put and end to this ridiculous vendetta Lansing has against Corinthos. If I want any chance at opening up those docks, I need to keep Lansing far, far away from this. He's unstable and unpredictable, and his interference could have already cost us too much."

Raising an eyebrow, Pedro's eyes darkened. "Do you want me to take care of it?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Lorenzo spoke, "No, not yet. Let's keep this civilized. For now, at least."

------

The ruby red vase shattered against the wall. The explosion sending sparkling shards of glass tumbling to the ground, embedding in the soft, crème colored rug.

Entangling his shaky fingers in his dark, curly hair, Ric sunk his weight onto the Sofa, clenching his eyes closed in disgust. "How could I have let this happen! How could I have let her get away!"

"My thoughts exactly."

Ric snapped his head up, his heated gaze falling on none other than Lorenzo Alcazar, the one link to his past the seemed destined never to go away. "What do you want?" he snapped, bolting up from his seat.

"An explanation, to start with." Alcazar crossed the living room, his demeanor never once betraying the anger and utter contempt he felt for the man before him, the man who could have cost him his last chance.

"She…" Ric fidgeted nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Carly got away."

"That much I figured out. What I want to know is _how_."

What did Alcazar think -- that he was stupid? Ric knew full well that Lorenzo had already been apprised of the details and didn't need the blow-by-blow; he just wanted to force it out of him, to make him squirm. "I'm sure Miguel already informed you about the pitfalls of my evening," he said, a shaky edge building in his voice.

"Well, for once Ric, you're right about _something_. I do already know that you allowed Carly Corinthos, a woman who weighs no more that 105Ilbs soaking wet, to kick you in a most uncomfortable place, and scurry off back to her family, leaving _us_… in quite the quandary."

"I-it wasn't supposed to work out this way."

"Obviously!"

Ric flinched at Alcazar's tone. He had to do something. Everything depended on him doing _something_. Elizabeth, the baby, their future together, Sonny finally paying for all the pain he'd caused… it all hinged on Carly. "I will fix this," he vowed shakily, making a sudden dash for the front door. "I'll get Carly, I-I just need another chance."

Closing the distance between Lansing and himself, Alcazar gripped the man by the arm and dragged him away from the door. "No," he said, a deadly calm to his words. "You aren't going anywhere near Carly Corinthos."

Ric's eyes widened as he shrugged free from Alcazar. "What are you talking about?"

"It's over, Ric." Striding past Ric, Lorenzo positioned himself between the door and Lansing. "Your plans for Carly will not become a reality."

Shock quickly melded with panic, and then anger, as Ric tried to force himself past Alcazar. It didn't work, however, as the other man lifted a hand to his throat, and forced him around, pinning him against the door.

"I _said_, it's _over_." Alcazar's once calm voice dipped to a low, frightening rumble.

"I-I thought we h-had an understanding!" Ric was frantic, clawing desperately at the fingers wound around his neck.

"No," he said, showing no sign of loosening his grip. "_I_ had a purpose for you. I used you and your demented plans to suit me. But you couldn't deliver, so now it ends."

"No!" Ric cried, his face reddening from the struggle. _It can't be over! Sonny has to pay…_

Alcazar held Ric there, trapped against the door. As much as Lorenzo would hate to admit it, sinking to this level, teetering a man, _this_ man, on the edge of suffocation, felt _good_. Damn good. He watched as Ric's eyes bulged, as the veins on his temples surged, and looked as if they would pop. And when he believed the inflicted pain to be enough, he pried Ric off the door and flung him to the ground.

Ric recoiled into a ball, sputtering and coughing wildly as he tried to catch his breath.

Running a straitening hand over the front of his dress shirt, Alcazar stared down at Ric. "You had your opportunity to be helpful Mr. Lansing, and it seems you've made a mess of it." Crouching down beside Ric, Lorenzo watched amused, as Ric peered back at him, an unmistakable spark of fear in his eyes. "I had a clear agenda, Mr. Lansing, and you knew this. Now, if you had kept up your end of the deal, we both could have gotten what we wanted. But you couldn't do that, could you? So, as a result, I'm left to take preventative measures, and put an end to this before your haphazard actions cause any further problems for me."

Seeing Ric's body tense at his words, he realized the man believed the worst. "No," he paused, shaking his head. "I'm not going to kill you, Ric. But I am going to stop you."

"W-what do you mean?" Ric asked, a hand still tending to his injured neck.

Alcazar narrowed his eyes. "It means, Ric, that this sick vendetta you have against your brother dies tonight. And if for some reason you decide to resurrect it, I'll make sure your pretty little wife is the one that ends up buried instead."

Straightening up, Alcazar watched as Ric's face crumpled in panic. "No," he pleaded, scrambling to his feet. "Not Elizabeth…"

"Mark my words, Lansing. Keep your distance from Sonny and stay out of my affairs, or there will no longer be an Elizabeth to avenge." Alcazar turned away from Ric, and strode silently to the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

---------

_(Just a note, I thought good old Alky needed a decent cohort to connive with, someone worthy of his sneakiness. Basically, he needed a Jason to his Sonny.)_

Miguel Garcia-Covas had been Lorenzo Alcazar's right hand man for many years now, and had managed within those years to earn the trust of that man in a way no one ever had. Luis Alcazar may have been Lorenzo's blood, but Miguel was his brother, in every way that counted.

The pair stood together, overlooking the shining lights of Port Charles from the deck of the yacht. Lorenzo had not spoken once since he had returned from handling Ric Lansing's incompetence, and it was beginning to worry Miguel, deeply. This degree of silence was odd even for Lorenzo.

"I assume Lansing has been taken care of," Miguel said finally, breaking the quiet that had settled over them.

Lorenzo didn't answer right away. Instead he nodded slowly and carefully as he leaned his forearms against the rail, and settled his gaze on the water below. "Ric Lansing won't be a problem any longer."

"So, you had Pedro… handle it?" Miguel asked, arching an eyebrow.

Lorenzo shook his head. "No," he said. "There wasn't a need for that. But if Lansing decides not to heed my warnings, the future could play out quite differently."

That awkward silence settled again, ticking away the minutes as both men stayed in quiet contemplation.

"Where do we go from here?" Miguel asked, after a while.

"Truthfully…" Lorenzo paused, considering his words. "I'm not entirely sure. But whatever it turns out to be, it will have to be drastic. Endless power and _money_ are slipping through our hands with every passing day that we are denied the territory we need."

Miguel thought for a moment, mulling over their options, the few, if any, they had. "His wife?" Miguel asked

Lorenzo sighed. "No. The Carly ship has sailed. Corinthos won't allow another opening like we had at the church. In fact, he's probably shipping her, and the boy off to parts unknown as we speak."

"Sonny's sister? She could be even better, having such intense ties to both men."

"I had considered it, but I can't see Morgan or Corinthos allowing her to stay in Port Charles when such an obvious threat has been posed to their family."

An acidic laugh escaped Miguel. "Then where does that leave us, back at negotiations?"

"Unfortunately," Lorenzo answered bitterly. "But in my experience, negotiations tend to go better if you have something to hold over the other party's head."

"But what?" Miguel asked doubtingly. "Mrs. Corinthos was our only rock-solid option, and now even Sonny's sister can't be used. These men are tight; they keep their family close for this very reason. Anyone who means a damn thing to them is as good as untouchable."

Sinking his head, Miguel eyed the flickering lights of the docks. "I hate to say this, Lorenzo, but we may have no other choice than to walk away."

"No, Miguel, this can't be over," Lorenzo said, turning to look at his friend. "There has to be _something… someone _we can use. Morgan is, after all, a _Quartermaine _."

"_Was_, Lorenzo. He _was_ a Quartermaine . Jason Morgan has long since renounced the family name, and severed all ties. They mean nothing to him. If one of them were to be taken, he wouldn't bat an…" Miguel's voice fell away as a light seemed to go on in his head, an apparent connection being made.

"What is it?"

Miguel's eyes seemed to brighten slightly as his thought became whole, more of a possibility. "Well, there is one person."

"A Quartermaine ?"

Miguel nodded. "If I remember correctly, Morgan has a sister that lives in the mansion."

Lorenzo's eyes darkened. "Skye," he murmured.

"No, not her," Miguel corrected, shaking his head. "A younger one."

_A younger one, _Lorenzo thought. _This could be very useful. Exactly what would Morgan do to have his baby sister returned to him, unharmed?_ "Are they close?" he asked suddenly.

"As far as I can see," Miguel shrugged. "She's been out of town for a while, but I have witnessed a few meetings in the park and at the docks. She is also a regular visitor of the penthouse. Mr. Morgan seems quite fond of her."

"What about Corinthos? Does _he_ care about the girl?"

Running a hand over his face, he thought for a moment. "I'm fuzzy on _his_ history with her, but I can research it. Though, if the girl is close enough to Morgan to frequent both their penthouses, then there must be _some_ attachment."

Lorenzo could almost feel the weight being lifted. They could have their leverage after all. "Good, very good," he said. "I want extra men put on Morgan and Corinthos, and I want extensive surveillance put on Ms. Quartermaine ." Pausing briefly, Lorenzo straitened his frame and turned to face his friend. "I want to know exactly what this girl means to them, Miguel. She could be our last hope."

Staying silent and stoic as ever, Miguel nodded knowingly and turned away, disappearing into the immense yacht.

Focusing his attention back on the water, Lorenzo immersed himself in the possibilities of their new discovery. If this Quartermaine girl proved to be as important as he hoped she would be, she could change _everything_. Maybe they _could_ continue with their plans, but with one minor substitution. A baby sister in the place of a wife… it could work.

Flickering his gaze over the shimmering waterfront of Port Charles, Lorenzo watched as a small container ship pulled into port, a smug smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. _Looks like you forgot about somebody, Corinthos…_

**_TBC_**…


	2. Islands, Initiatives, and Inquiries

**Title:** Somewhere In Between

**Author: **Loke

**Authors Note: **About the Miguel/Lorenzo scenes: In this fic, Miguel and Lorenzo go back a long time. They grew up together and are first and foremost close friends, second to sharing a solid boss/employee relationship. They know each other inside and out, and share a comfortable and unique understanding of the other that no one else possesses. So, on most of their interactions, I will write it that way. When Lo is with Miguel, he behaves slightly different, far less dictatorial, not so guarded. Like I mentioned in the previous chapter… Miguel is to Lorenzo, what Jason is to Sonny. Just thought I'd add that so you guys don't think I'm writing Lo as a passive creature all of a sudden. ;) Oh, and in my world, Ric and Lorenzo were in cahoots from the get go. Just thought I'd clarify, you know, if any of you were wondering.

-----

**Chapter Two : Islands, Initiatives, and Inquiries.**

**-----**

**(June16th. Three days after the attempted abduction.)**

Catching the closing door midstream, Jason pushed his way into the penthouse, trailing after Courtney. "Can you please just calm down?"

Courtney pivoted on her heel; her arms crossed defiantly, and stared her fiancé down with a glower that he imagined could quite possibly rival his own icy glare. "I won't go Jason. That's all there is to it. Calm or not, that is still my answer." A part of her felt tremendously guilty for giving him so much grief about the decision to ship her, along with Carly, off to the island for safekeeping, but she couldn't help it. Off somewhere relaxing in the sun while her brother and the man she loved stayed home and chased after a phantom was the last thing she wanted. She wanted to be home, helping any way she could, lending a voice of reason when it was needed, though she was fairly certain they would ignore her. But it was more than want. She _needed_ to be there, for him, for Sonny, for Carly, and for herself. She _couldn't_ go.

"Courtney, please…"

"No," she said, dropping her eyes and her voice. "I don't -- Jason, I don't want to leave you, especially now."

The hardened edge of his stance softened at her words, and Jason closed the distance between them. "Come on," he said, placing a finger under her chin, urging her to look at him. "I won't force you to go. We both know that. But what I can do is ask you to understand how important this is. _Please_, Courtney," he pleaded softly. "Go with Carly and Michael to the island. Help me keep you safe."

She grabbed his forearms and looked beseechingly into his eyes. "As long as I'm with you I _am_ safe."

Looking away, Jason let out an uneven breath. "Carly was with me, _and_ Sonny. But it still wasn't enough."

And there it was. The reason for his desperate need to send her away, and his out of character urging. He felt guilty. He felt responsible for what almost happened. "No," she said firmly, trapping him in her gaze. "I will _not_ let you do this to yourself, Jason. Carly is _fine_."

"Yeah, but not from anything I did. Carly getting away was all her. In the end she was the one who kept _herself_ safe." Jason wasn't sure how to explain what it was he felt. All he knew was that almost having his best friend snatched right out from under his nose, and at his wedding of all places, felt like a backhand to the face. It shouldn't have happened, plain and simple. He dropped the ball, and there was no way in hell he was going to let his fiancé get caught in the crossfire when the bastard came back for round two. And he would be back. Jason was sure of it.

Watching Jason rip himself apart was breaking her heart. It just wasn't like him. "Jason, _don't_…"

"Courtney, I'm not beating myself up, okay? I'm facing facts. I slipped up." The coldness in his voice sliced through the room as he pointed a finger at his chest. "And someone I care about almost paid the price. I won't allow it to happen again. And for me to be able to do that you _can't_ be here. If you stay right now, you'll only be in danger." Jason closed his eyes, and forced the edge off his voice. He couldn't get angry with her; she was only doing what she always did, fighting to stand beside him, no matter what. It was one of the reasons he fell in love with her; her strength in the face of anything, even unknown dangers that could be disastrous for their family. Moving closer to her, he cupped her face in his hands and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I love you too much to take that risk."

Riveted to his steely blue eyes, the eyes that had a way of grabbing hold of her and commanding every ounce of her attention, Courtney could feel her resolve crumbling. And for his sake, she wasn't sure she wanted it to recover.

Jason gauged her silence carefully, and for the first time since he met her, found he couldn't read her eyes. Unsure if he was losing the battle or not, Jason tried again. "Courtney, _please_."

The quiet desperation in his voice nearly broke her heart in two, and at the same time, sent a shiver of stark realization down her spine. The attempt on Carly, and the looming threat he was certain would swoop down on them at any moment, had _scared_ him. _Jason_ was afraid. At first, she thought she must be reading it wrong. But looking into his pleading blue eyes, she knew she wasn't mistaken at all, and that she had no other choice but to give in. She had to do this for his peace of mind if nothing else, even if she didn't agree with it.

"Fine," she sighed, defeated. "I'll go."

She wasn't sure why, but the words seemed to echo sullenly in her mind, twisting her gut as Jason silently enfolded her in his arms.

**----------**

"Sonny?" Carly's voice echoed through the Penthouse as she trudged down the stairs. Inspecting the empty living room, Carly tried again, louder this time. "Sonny!"

Carly stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hands set on her hips. Where in the hell had he disappeared to now? She, Michael, and Courtney were due to leave in less than an hour for the Island and her husband had dropped out of sight _again_. "Sonny, where _are_ you!"

Carly's narrowed eyes flew to the front door as it opened, her husband emerging from the hall. "Where did you go?"

Shutting the door behind him, Sonny closed the distance to the desk and began sifting through the contents of the top drawer. "I was just making some arrangements."

"Arrangements?" She hated that word. Nothing good ever came from that word.

Sonny came up with what looked like an address book, and began to leaf through it. "Yeah, just some extra security measures for the Island, that's all."

Stepping closer, she crossed her arms over her chest and watched her husband reach for the telephone. "How many guards am I going to have on me now? Four? Five? An even half-dozen?"

Sonny replaced the phone on the cradle and turned around, clearly unimpressed. "As many as it takes, Carly," he said flatly. He knew exactly where this was going.

"Isn't it enough that we're being shipped away? Do we have to have an army of guards watching our every move, too?"

Sonny clamped his mouth shut and fought his frustration. Once, he wished, just _once_ he'd like to have her _not_ go against him on a decision. "Do you even remember what happened?"

Carly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What kind of question was that? Of course she remembered. In fact, she wished she could forget. But why did what _almost_ happened have to change anything about her present security? "I don't understand why anything has—"

"Carly, please," he pleaded softly, running a hand over his unshaven face. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"But, Sonny, sending us away—"

Sonny stopped her cold, unable to hold back. "Do you think I want to send you and Michael away, huh? Do you think I want to tear Courtney away from Jason on what would have been their honeymoon, and force her, Michael, and _you_ to fly to the Island because your safety, your very _lives_ may depend on being as far away from me as you can get?" Sonny was trying desperately to keep in control of his emotions, but saying his fears out loud only seemed to make them that much more real. And that much more overwhelming. "That's the last thing I want, Carly. But it doesn't matter what I want, because I don't have a choice. I allowed for a loophole in security at the wedding. You were alone and someone almost stole you and our unborn child from me. I will not be that careless with my family ever again. Carly, I _will_ _not_ lose you, too." Sonny's chest was heaving, out of breath from his rant. He honestly hadn't meant to let loose on her like that, and cursed himself silently for losing control.

Carly felt frozen, in shock almost, as she stared, mouth slightly agape, at her husband. She could see the pain in his eyes, the internal war being waged within his body and worse yet, the guilt that riddled his soul.

But he had no reason to be guilty.

There as no way anyone could tell that someone would try to steal her from Jason and Courtney's wedding.

It wasn't his fault. _It wasn't_.

Her temporary paralysis falling away, Carly felt her heart pinch as her arms went out to him, doing the only thing she could at that moment. Holding him tightly to her body and reminding his shaken heart that she was still right there. She would always be there. Nothing would ever change that.

"You didn't lose me," she whispered into him, her arms still clenched around him. "You will _never_ lose me."

**----------**

Ric Lansing stood on the edge of Pier 52, looking at the impressive yacht that occupied it.

Alcazar's Yacht.

Remembering his last encounter with the drug lord, Ric's hand went to his neck, tentatively grazing over the still bruised and tender skin. After what happened the other night, and the warning that had been indelibly etched on his panic-stricken mind, Ric was well aware that this was the last place he should be.

In fact, his presence was downright stupid on his part. He was playing a dangerous game with his life, with Elizabeth's.

But as high as the stakes were, he couldn't help it. His rampant curiosity had gotten the best of him.

Alcazar clearly had something planned for Sonny, and Ric wanted more than anything to know what that something was. If Sonny was going to be taken down, Ric wanted a front row seat, or better yet, an active role in his brother's demise. He _had_ to be involved. He had to change Alcazar's mind somehow.

But that part could come later. What had to be done now was finding a way to get on this Yacht. _Without_ Alcazar killing him.

**----------**

"Mr. Alcazar?"

Lorenzo paused from his work, almost thankful for the distraction. "What is it?" he asked, not bothering to make eye contact with the guard.

"This just came for you." The guard crossed the room to Lorenzo's desk and lifted a large black envelope into view. "The messenger said it was urgent."

Definitely showing more haste than usual, Lorenzo reached for the envelope and dismissed the guard. He turned it over in his hands, tugging lightly on the ties that held it closed. Slipping a hand inside, he pulled out a smaller manila folder and smiled. Even without opening it, Lorenzo knew exactly what it was.

**---------**

Emily looked up from her spot on the bench, watching her brother approach. He had called her, putting a slight kink in her afternoon plans. But she wasn't angry, not even annoyed. With Carly's almost-abduction, she knew he had a reason for the impromptu meeting. And as he came closer, Emily felt her concern grow. Jason looked _awful_.

"Hey." Jason sounded tired, exhausted really.

"You okay?" She asked, sisterly instinct kicking in as she forwent her own greeting.

He dropped down next to her, leaning back into the bench. "I'm fine. Just a little tired." Tired was a vast understatement. After scouring town for leads and his conversation with Courtney, Jason was beyond drained.

Emily quickly scanned her brother's slackened, defeated form, his weary eyes, and the traces of stubble peppering his face. It was obvious he hadn't slept much in the past three days and even more obvious that something was wrong, very wrong. She didn't want to sound 'motherly' but she couldn't help it. This was _Jason_, her big brother. The protective instinct went both ways. Emily swiveled in her seat to face him. "Look," she said. "I know this is an awful time, but you can't run yourself ragged. You're not superman, Jase."

Jason placed a reassuring hand over hers and looked at her. "Emily, I'm _fine_. You don't need to worry about me."

"Fat chance, Jase," Emily snorted. "It's _me,_ remember? Your sister? Worrying about you is my job."

"And you're very good at it." He smiled, bringing his hand up to give her shoulder a squeeze. "But trust me, Emily. I'm okay."

Emily allowed his words to settle her a bit, but not completely. She could still be worried about him and keep it to herself. There was no crime in that. "So… you wanted to talk to me?" She asked him with downcast eyes, steering them away from the obviously futile subject.

Being brought back to the issue at hand, Jason felt himself tense up. Everything about this situation, the uncertainty most of all, just pissed him off. "Yeah," he sighed. "I wanted to discuss security for you."

Mentally, Emily cursed. She knew this was coming, she had just hoped to get lost in the shuffle a while longer. Obviously, her brother had other ideas. "By '_discuss',_ you mean inform me to the new _arrangements_, don't you? As in the arrangements that have already been made, the one's I won't be able to talk you out of?"

He understood where her reluctance came from, but still, as with Courtney, he couldn't afford to let this go. Emily meant entirely too much to him. "Look, I know you haven't had guards now for a while, but after what happened…" Jason trailed off, dropping his eyes. "I can't take the risk, Em. Not with you." He looked at her, hoping he didn't have a fight in front of him.

What greeted his hesitant eyes set him immediately at ease. Emily was smiling. It was a small smile, but at least it was there.

"Its okay, Jason. I mean, I'm not _thrilled_, but it's doable, for now."

_Thank God._ He had been so afraid she would object and flat out deny the security, not that he wouldn't have put them on her anyway. Covertly. But this way, he could protect her in the open without trying to hide it. It made everything so much easier. With Courtney and Carly on their way out of town, and Emily being guarded fulltime, Jason could throw himself into this without any hang-ups. He could commit himself entirely to identifying the threat. And removing it. _Permanently_.

Jason let out a relieved sigh, and smiled gratefully at his little sister.

He didn't have to worry about her now.

**----------**

From a murky corner, hidden form Morgan's view, Miguel watched carefully the exchange between brother and sister.

He had been unsure before, but now as his shadowy eyes took in the scene before him, the way Morgan smiled at the girl, the way he gently touched her shoulder and held her hand, Miguel felt all previous doubt remove itself.

Ms. Quartermaine was, in point of fact, very dear to Jason Morgan. _Very dear._

**---------**

Sonny watched his sister carefully, taking notice of how the dappled afternoon sunlight washed over her stoic form as she gazed listlessly at the passing scenery. She looked so sad.

That was his fault.

_His_ life turned what should have been a beautiful and precious moment between her and Jason, completely upside-down. His negligence ruined his own sister's wedding day.

Sighing, he dropped his head and studied his hands, twirling the golden wedding band on his finger. He remembered his last wedding to Carly; in fact, he could still remember his vows. Standing there, looking into Carly's eyes, pledging his love and his life to her was a moment he would never forget; a moment he would carry with him forever.

That moment didn't happen for Courtney.

Looking to his side at his sister's unmoved profile again, Sonny swallowed a silent promise. Courtney's dream wedding may have fallen apart, but if it took every last ounce of energy in him, he would give that moment back to her, and to Jason. When this was all over, he would fix it. He would make it right for her again.

It was the least he could do.

"Why wasn't Jason at the penthouse when we left? Is he going to be at the airport?" Carly's voice lifted above Sonny's thoughts and he pulled his eyes to her face, and then to his son, who lay curled up in sleep, his head resting on his mother's lap.

Before Sonny could answer Courtney nodded softly and spoke up, still focused on Port Charles as it passed outside her window. "He'll be there. He just went to see Emily first."

"Is he sending her away, too?" Carly's quip was met by a knitted brow and a disapproving glance from her husband. "What?" She challenged him, crossing her arms defensively. "I'm sorry, but I just don't see why Jason is making Courtney come with us. They should be on their _honeymoon_, not thousands of miles apart from-"

"He isn't making me go anywhere, Carly," Courtney broke in, looking at her sister-in-law. "He asked me, and I agreed."

"Okay, but what's he going to do now? Is he going to _ask_ Emily to hop a flight to the Island too? How many people's lives are going to be put on hold or uprooted because some twisted freak –who I made short work of, by the way—tried to kidnap me?"

In spite of himself, Sonny smiled at the undertone of concern in her mini rant. Carly had an incredible heart, no matter what some may have thought. "Calm down, okay?" Sonny draped a subduing arm across Carly's shoulder. "Jason isn't going to uproot Emily. He's just assigning Johnny to her fulltime."

Carly's face softened somewhat, and she looked down, running a gentle hand over her son's hair. No one else needed to have their lives displaced over this. Theirs was more than enough. "Well good. I mean, its not like I'm particularly close to Emily or anything, but I would hate for her to be shipped away again because of all this. It wouldn't be right; it has nothing to do with her."

Courtney lent her voice again: "Don't worry about it, Carly. Jason just went to tell her about Johnny, and to make sure she's okay. Nobody else is going to be effected by this."

"Courtney's right," Sonny said. "Jason and I are going to fix this, and then all of you are going to come home, and everything will go back to normal. This will all be over soon."

Carly nodded silently, studying his face for a long time. And the closer she looked, the more Carly wondered who her husband was really trying to convince. Her… or himself.

**---------**

Miguel watched as Jason and Emily said their goodbye, locking in a brief but affectionate hug. As Morgan made his way off the docks, a guard, he supposed, fell in step next to Emily as she took her leave of the docks as well.

"Did you get them?" Miguel kept his focus on the slowly retreating girl and her protector as he addressed a lurking Pedro.

The henchman's face danced with a proud glee, of sorts, as he lifted a camera into the light. "A whole roll," he said.

"Good. Go take care of it, and be sure to get them back to me quickly. A decision needs to be made."

Pedro gave his usual obedient nod and disappeared as quickly as he had come.

Emerging form his hiding place, Miguel surveyed the pier with hands tucked away in his pockets, his lips parting in a smile.

**----------**

_Now or never._ The thought seemed to rumble over and over in Ric's mind, spurring him on. If he wanted to see Sonny pay, he had to do this, consequences be damned.

Ric scanned the deck, making sure that the patrol guard had turned the corner, out of view. When he was satisfied, Ric braced himself, and made the jump from the dock to the yacht's deck, trying to keep his landing soft, silent.

Glancing left and then right, Ric dashed forward across the deck and pulled open the door to the inner corridors. He knew Alcazar's study was his best bet of coming face-to-face with the drug lord, and due to a few vividly remembered meetings which took place in that room, finding the study wouldn't be a problem. Now all he had to was get there. Undetected.

**----------**

Lorenzo poured over the manila folder's contents, examining each item closely, carefully. Leaning back in his chair, he singled out one article in particular from the folder. It was a photo of a young woman with long, softly streaked brown hair, and dark, telling eyes. Emily Quartermaine . Lorenzo brought a hand up to the photo, tracing the outline of her hair with a finger. _So this is what the possible ruin of Sonny Corinthos looks like_, he thought. _Not what I expected. _

What _had_ he expected, though, he wondered. A girlish, bubbling, teenager who lacked maturity and poise? Well, judging from the photo he held in his hand that certainly wasn't the case. No, Emily was indeed young, he would admit to that, but there was hardly anything girlish about her. In fact, she was stunning. But aside from her obvious beauty, there was something about her, about her vibrancy, her smile, her whole presence. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

Suddenly, a brief knock at his door, followed by it being thrown open, pulled him from his thoughts again. "What is it now?" He sighed, lifting his head and immediately receiving his answer.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Ric nervously bounced his gaze between Alcazar's unforgiving face and the guard that held him firmly in place. Clearly, the 'undetected' part, hadn't exactly gone as planned.

"Well?" Lorenzo snapped, losing his patience. Obviously his warning to Ric Lansing hadn't been nearly as effective as it was intended to be. But still, he couldn't believe the man was foolish enough to _sneak onto his yacht_.

Snapping his gaze back to Lorenzo, Ric began to feel a heavy knot of regret and dread from in his belly. Perhaps he should have given this part a little more thought _before_ boarding the yacht. What could he say that would piqué Lorenzo's interest and not get him tossed overboard? "I, um… I…" Ric wildly searched his mind for a reply when a sharp wrenching of his arm proved the perfect motivation. "I…have a business proposition for you!"

Oh, this should be good. Lorenzo felt like laughing. "What could _you_ possibly have to offer me?"

Ric glanced up again at the fairly angry looking man that still held him back by his arms. "Call your goon off and I'll tell you."

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, his eyes darkening. "Observe your surroundings well, Mr. Lansing. You are in no position to be making demands."

His mind seemed to launch into warp speed as he mentally clawed for an edge, a way to get Lorenzo to listen. Then it dawned on him, he did have _something_. It was small, and there was a possibility that Alcazar would simply scoff at him and _then_ kill him. But he was there, standing in front of the man who could finally give Sonny an idea of what it was to truly suffer. He _had_ to take the chance. "Actually," Ric said, his confidence growing. "I am."

Getting to his feet, Lorenzo emerged from behind his desk, arms folded across his chest. "Your arrogance is truly astounding, Mr. Lansing. You sneak onto my yacht, blatantly ignoring orders to keep your nose out of my affairs, and then have the _audacity_ to insinuate that you possess some kind of leverage over me." Lorenzo slowly lessened the gap between himself and Ric. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have Rico here snap your neck and be done with it."

Ric felt his chest tighten in panic. That was exactly what he _didn't_ want. "Because," he stated coolly, fighting to remain composed and unaffected. "I can help you destroy Sonny."

Lorenzo sighed and rocked back on his heels. Was this man stupid, or did he really not grasp the severity of the situation he had just placed himself in? Lorenzo couldn't be sure. "Haven't we been down this road before, Mr. Lansing? And haven't we already concluded that it is a _dead_ end?"

"The other night you never allowed me to present my case. You didn't hear me out."

"And you think I should? Now?" he asked, clearly enjoying what he knew was only Ric's last desperate attempt. This man was, if nothing else, thoroughly entertaining.

Ric really hoped he wasn't pushing the cocky and confident thing too hard, but he knew from experience that begging scarcely got you anywhere with an Alcazar. Begging reeked of weakness, and they abhorred the weak. In order to gain any kind of ground, Ric knew he had to play this out like he had nothing to lose, and as if he actually had a leg to stand on. "I think it would be in your best interest, yes."

Perhaps it was the manila folder sitting on his desk, or maybe the possibilities that it represented. Or it could have been that suddenly Lorenzo found Ric's rampant arrogance and baseless confidence utterly amusing. But whatever the case may have been, something urged Lorenzo to at least humor the man before throwing him out on his ass. "All right," he conceded after a moment, resting on the edge of his desk, eyeing him carefully. "Plead your case, Lansing."

"Can I have my arms back first?"

Lorenzo shrugged his shoulders and relented after a moment of consideration, waiving Rico off and dismissing the guard.

Ric brought his arms to his front again and rubbed at the new tender spots, certain bruises were already forming under the fabric of his shirt. If he got his foot in the door here, he would definitely need to keep his future meetings with Alcazar contact-free, or Elizabeth would start asking questions.

"As I was saying before," Ric said, snapping to attention and jumping right into his cause. "I can help you destroy Sonny."

"And how exactly do you plan on going about that, Mr. Lansing? Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't Sonny hate you?"

A sly smile spread across the lawyer's face. "That's just the thing. He doesn't, not entirely."

"Sounds encouraging," Lorenzo said flatly. Where in the hell was Lansing going with this?

"Just listen," Ric said, taking a step closer to him. "Sonny thinks I want peace. He thinks I want to start over. But what he doesn't know is that it was all apart of the plan. Make Sonny believe I wanted to strike up a truce, so that when Carly was taken he wouldn't hold me responsible. It was all just to throw him off the scent."

"But you messed that up. Or don't you remember?"

Ric sighed and ran hand over his hair. "I know, and I am sorry about that. But I can still make this work. I can build on the peace I've started with Sonny and slowly insinuate myself into his life, all the while working with you on whatever it is you have planned for him."

Lorenzo cocked an eyebrow. "What makes you think I have anything planned for your brother?"

"Nothing has changed, Lorenzo. You still need his ports, and you still hold him responsible for Luis's death. I'd be surprised if you _didn't_ have something planned for Sonny."

Well, he had a point there. "Okay, assuming that I do have something in the works, what role do you see yourself playing in any of it?"

"Simple. Once I get close enough, I'll be able to get you information on him, help sabotage him, or even convince him to enter into negotiations with you. Any thing you want, really."

Lorenzo thought about it for a moment, but quickly came to the decision that Lansing was vastly overestimating his pull with Corinthos and glazing over several pertinent factors. "And while you 'magically' become an integral part of your brother's life, do you also envision yourself becoming Jason Morgan's new best pal?" Lorenzo watched as Ric's face crashed, and his eyes darkened. "What's the matter, Ric? Did your plan just hit a large blonde snag?"

Jason. Of course. Why hadn't he factored his brother's mindless thug into the equation? Jason would most definitely present a problem. But in his mind, that was a wrinkle to be ironed out at a later date. Right now all that mattered was convincing Alcazar that Jason Morgan could be handled. "You don't understand my brother," Ric said, looking Alcazar dead in the eye for maximum effect. "Family means everything to Sonny, and he already wants to reconcile with me. I can _feel_ it. Jason Morgan _can_ be worked around."

The man certainly was giving this pitch everything he had, that much was easy to tell. Determination was written all over Lansing's face. But even with as hard as Ric was working to sell him on this proposition of his, Lorenzo could easily see that it would amount to nothing. Sonny, he imagined, was a man quite like himself, a man who doled out forgiveness very sparingly, and who never forgot. In order for Ric's plan to work, Sonny would have to not only forgive, but also forget everything his brother ever tried to do to him, to his _family_. That fact alone insured that Ric Lansing's plans would never come full circle. It just wouldn't happen.

"Well…" Lorenzo drew out the word, purposely torturing the man who was clearly burning in anticipation of an answer. He turned his head up slightly, focusing on the mounting desperation in Lansing's eyes. Toying with him just a bit more, Lorenzo flashed a contented smile, briefly offering a ray of hope to the lawyer. False hope. "It's time for you to leave."

Ric's heart crashed to his toes. This could _not_ be happening. He couldn't have struck out again!

The corners of Lorenzo's bearded mouth turned up slightly, invisibly. That was fun, but also an unfortunate waste of his time.

"Come on." Stepping closer to Ric, Lorenzo reached out and attempted to seize the other man's arm in order to further illustrate his wishes. But before Lorenzo could get hold of him, Ric peeled away, jutting to the left and circling behind him, taking refuge on the opposite side of the desk.

"Wait!" he yelled, his arms out in defense as he kept his body behind the black leather desk chair. "You aren't giving this a chance!"

Lorenzo sighed resignedly. This was becoming tiresome, and he meant to put an end to it. Immediately. "How close you become with your long lost brother is of no consequence to me, Ric. You and whatever influences you _think_ you have over Sonny, mean absolutely nothing to me, nor will they assist me in my business ventures." Lorenzo moved to the door and pulled it open. "Now, before my charitable mood fails me…"

Ric bowed his head in defeat and blew out a long, tired breath. But as his eyes absently scanned the top of Alcazar's desk, a familiar face peered back at him, peeking out from the clutter.

**----------**

The car rolled onto the tarmac, a safe distance from the jet. Getting out, Jason smiled at the sight before him. Courtney was leaning against Sonny's limo, her long blond locks whipping in the wind; her head bowed gracefully, her eyes closed to the beaming sun.

He approached slowly, hesitant to disturb the breathtaking scene, and feeling an incredible urge to memorize the moment.

From behind her hooded eyes, Courtney heard the unmistakable scuff of boot against asphalt, and looked up, already knowing exactly who it was. "Hey," she smiled, reaching out to him. "I was wondering when you were going to get here."

Jason stayed silent at first, dissolving into her touch, wanting only to hold her, to savor the feeling of her in his arms before she disappeared for God only knew how long. "It took a little longer than I thought," he explained as Courtney twined her arms around his waist and hugged him close.

How could a hug feel so good? She often wondered that when it came to being in Jason's arms. But her answer never failed her: it was where she was meant to be. Always.

"Carly and Michael already on board?" he asked, pulling back only enough to see her face.

Courtney laced her fingers together at the small of his back and turned her head up at him, giving a nod. "Sonny, too." She glanced up at the plane, hey eyes lingering there for a moment. "They're saying goodbye." Sonny and Carly had asked her to come onboard and wait for Jason there, but Courtney couldn't bring herself to intrude upon their last few moments together. Courtney dipped her head and rested her forehead on Jason's chest, closing her eyes. Sonny, Carly, and Michael needed that time, just like she needed this.

Smiling softly, Jason reached up to her hair and ran a smoothing hand over the golden strands, breathing in her scent. "I'm going to miss you," he whispered.

Those soft and simple words were almost her undoing as she clenched him tighter, burying her face in his chest. "I'm going to miss you too."

**----------**

"What are you doing with this?"

Lorenzo's eyes narrowed as he watched Ric pick up the photo of Emily. "Move away from my desk."

Ric's mind was suddenly bombarded with questions. The most resonate of which being why. _Why_ did Lorenzo Alcazar have a photo of Emily Quartermaine on his desk, in his possession at all? He feared the answer, the only answer that could be. But still, he pushed on, unable to stop himself in his quest for confirmation. Holding the photo out, pinched between his fingers, Ric looked straight at him. "_Why_ do you have this, Lorenzo?"

That was it, the absolute last straw. It was time for Ric to go, one way or another. Lorenzo crossed the room and snatched the snapshot from Ric's hand, replacing it on the desk. "Leave."

"Are you planning to use—"

"Now!" Lorenzo roared, his eyes blazing. "While you still can."

Ric flinched and wisely scooted to the door, Lorenzo close behind.

"Rico!" Lorenzo called for the guard, who immediately appeared, placing himself between Ric and freedom. "Escort Mr. Lansing out," he said, allowing the guard to take hold of Ric and swing him violently into the hall. "And if he comes onboard again, shoot him."

**----------**

Peering through Kelly's glass doors, Emily spotted Nikolas and Lucky seated inside, their faces lit in laughter. Emily smiled as she watched them. After all that had happened to them in the past year, no one deserved to laugh and be happy, even if only for a short while, more than Nikolas and Lucky did. In losing Laura to the breakdown, they'd both lost enormous parts of themselves, parts she wasn't sure they would ever get back.

"Miss Quartermaine , are you going in?"

Emily broke from her reverie and turned around, looking up at the questioning face peering back at her. She'd almost forgotten about him, her newly appointed shadow. "Definitely," she nodded. "Are you coming in, too?"

The guard set his handsome face in protest. His job wasn't to mingle in her life, it was to protect it. "No, Miss Quartermaine , that's all right. I'll just stay out here, keeping an eye out."

Emily wrinkled her nose at the formal title. She had let it go so far today, but if she and Johnny would be spending near every waking moment together, the title would certainly get old. "Emily will do just fine, Johnny," she said, smiling lightly. "'Miss Quartermaine ' is way too stuffy for me."

Johnny nodded in agreement. "Sure thing, Emily," he said, falling in place beside the front door to the diner. "I'll be right here if you need me."

A frown pulled at her lips. "Are you sure? I have to meet with Nikolas and Lucky, but you could grab something to eat while you wait." She was starting to remember why she never really cared for having guards, she always felt like such a heel for dragging these poor guys all over town. It couldn't have been their favorite way to spend a day.

Again, Johnny shook off the invitation. It wasn't that he would have minded, but these were dangerous times. He needed to be alert at all times, especially in protecting Emily. Jason and Sonny would have his ass if anything ever happened to her because of his carelessness. "Its okay, Emily," he said, knowing full well that he would have to explain a bit to get her to listen. "You go see your friends." He opened the door for her, clearing the path inside. "It's important for me to keep watch, and that's easier for me to do out here."

"Oh, okay, whatever's easiest for you." Far be it from her to tell a man how to do his job. If Johnny preferred doing his guard thing outside, she wasn't about to argue. "I won't be long." Emily gave him a quick smile before turning and making her way inside.

**----------**

Lorenzo blew out an angry breath and dropped down in his chair, his eyes landing on the picture of Emily.

He should have thrown Ric Lansing out the moment he turned up onboard. Now, because of a fleeting good mood, Ric had seen the one thing he shouldn't have. Proof that he indeed had something planned for Sonny. True, the proof was disputable to anyone outside of the equation. But Lansing wasn't stupid and if Lorenzo hadn't cut him off, Ric definitely would have perused any suspicions he had, suspicions that were bound to be growing by now.

In his anger he had allowed Ric to go when he should have eliminated the problem altogether. Now, there was no way to be sure that Lansing wouldn't run to Corinthos or Morgan with his findings in some desperate attempt to get back in his brother's good graces.

_Damn-it._

Well, he supposed he could count on the fact that Ric couldn't exactly be held up as a credible source of information in Corinthos' eyes. But hearing that one of their most hated enemies was in possession of Emily Quartermaine 's photo, may be enough to merit at least further inspection on Morgan's part.

Lorenzo ran a hand over his face, considering his options. He could have Ric killed. He wouldn't be depriving Port Charles of anything spectacular or wonderful in ending Ric's miserable little life. In fact, he could be doing the town a service, according to some. But that aside, he couldn't afford even a vague connection to a murder now, not with all they stood to gain if the option of Emily Quartermaine panned out. But then, if Ric took it upon himself to enlighten Sonny and Jason on his little discovery, the Emily Option could fizzle out before it even got off the ground. Just like Carly.

He would have to make sure Lansing kept his mouth shut, he would have to be watched around the clock; there would be no way around it. And even though Lorenzo wasn't completely sold on using Emily, he wasn't willing to allow Ric Lansing the opportunity of screwing with his intentions again.

Just then, the slow creak of an opening door sounded lightly through the quiet study, drawing Lorenzo yet again from his thoughts. But this time, he didn't bother to look up and greet the uninvited guest. There wasn't a need to. He knew perfectly well who it was. Only one man on earth dared to enter his private study without even knocking, and while _whistling _no less.

"You certainly seem chipper," Lorenzo said to the familiar intruder. "I take that to mean you've confirmed Ms. Quartermaine 's value?"

Seating himself in a large leather armchair just in front of Lorenzo's desk, Miguel tossed the packet of photos taken by Pedro into his boss's lap. "I think these photographs can attest to her worth better that I can."

Lorenzo quickly worked the package open. Pictures of Emily and Jason came flooding out, the pair's affectionate bond evident in every snapshot.

"So he _is_ fond of her then," Lorenzo practically whispered, sifting through the numerous photos.

"Very. In fact, Morgan's affection for the girl was downright touching." Catching Lorenzo's gaze, Miguel feigned a pout. "It nearly melted my heart."

Lorenzo gave a snort of laughter before his face hardened again, the creases on his forehead deepening as his thoughts did. "Would finding the girl at risk be enough to make _Corinthos_ submit to my demands?" Miguel may have been confident, but that one question kept niggling at the back of Lorenzo's mind. Would Emily be enough?

Miguel didn't hesitate. "Morgan's anguish will _make_ _it_ enough."

"Are you positive he has that kind of influence?"

Folding his hands across his chest, Miguel leaned back in his chair, and in a typically smart-ass move, propped his feet up on his best friend's desk. "Do _I_ have that kind of influence?"

Lorenzo knew what Miguel was hinting at, but he refused to allow his concern to be brushed aside so easily. "This isn't about you, Miguel. It's about Corinthos."

"I'm aware of that." Miguel's demeanor shifted back to business mode as he returned his feet to the floor. "But do you really think Sonny Corinthos would allow the adored little sister of his most trusted colleague to stay in your possession and face an uncertain fate? Because I don't. "

Lorenzo lifted his head. "This is his business. His _livelihood_. Forgive me if I can't see him handing it all over to save a woman who isn't even his flesh and blood."

Miguel furrowed his brow. "We aren't asking him to hand it over… yet. We're simply asking for a foothold and usage of his ports. The rest will come in time."

He wanted to share his friend's confidence, but his own past wouldn't allow it. Lorenzo couldn't comprehend giving it all up or making a concession like that for _anyone_, let alone a woman. It just didn't make any sense.

"I'm not steering you wrong here, Lorenzo." Miguel rose from his chair and stood in front of the desk. "You need to trust me."

"You know I do." Lorenzo's answer was sharp and immediate.

"Then believe me when I say that the empire Sonny Corinthos has built in this town _will_ crumble, Port Charles _will_ be at your feet, and Emily Quartermaine is the key to it all."

Lorenzo stared at his friend for a long time, drawing confidence from his certainty. Miguel had never steered him wrong in the past, why should now be any different?

_It shouldn't_, he reasoned. It shouldn't at all. But having trust in Miguel didn't mean Lorenzo couldn't seek some _first hand_ assurance of his own.

Leaning back, Lorenzo gave his decree. "Fly to Caracas and continue with things as we had planned."

"Me?" Miguel's dark eyes flashed with confusion. "Lorenzo, we need to move quickly. Wouldn't I be more useful _here_, where I can begin making strides? We can't afford to--"

"We _will_ do this, Miguel," he assured his friend, picking up the photo of Emily that lay on his desk. "I just need to check into a few things first."

**----------**

**TBC**…


	3. At First Sight

**Authors Note: **Just a quick note on Sonny and Ric: I know Sonny's devotion to the whole "Ric is innocent" song might seem a little odd, especially since I neglected to tell you guys in chapter 1 that Sonny and everybody's favorite psycho freak (oh wait, I'm sorry… _misunderstood_ psycho freak) had been slowly, _slowly_ making moves to mend some fences. Think itty-bitty olive branches with secret malicious intent… okay? Good… now go read, and dont' forget to R&R. :)

**-----**

**Somewhere In Between**

**-----**

**Chapter Three: At First Sight**

**-----**

Lorenzo hadn't moved since Miguel left. He sat, leaning into the plush leather of the high-backed desk chair, his eyed fixated on the photo he held between his fingers.

He understood perfectly the logic of using Emily Quartermaine against Corinthos, why it _should_ work, and why if Miguel was correct, it _would_ work. But still, even as he studied her bright and smiling eyes, Lorenzo couldn't banish the last of his doubts.

Now, Miguel on the other hand, was confident, unwaveringly so. But Lorenzo imagined some of that confidence had to have stemmed from being able to see their future acquisition up close, to study her interaction with Morgan carefully and with his own eyes.

So, Lorenzo thought if he were to do the same, then perhaps he would stand to gain some of Miguel's clarity. Some of his conviction.

It was worth a shot.

Pulling his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket, Lorenzo dialed Pedro.

"_Hello?"_

"Are you watching Ms. Quartermaine right now?"

"_Yes, Sir."_

"Where is she?"

"_The girl and her bodyguard just arrived at Kelly's Diner in town. She went in, but the guard is standing watch outside."_

Lorenzo closed his eyes, disappointed. There would be no way the guard would simply allow him to walk into Kelly's and introduce himself to the girl. He could wait it out, but this being Emily's first day with security, it would be unlikely that he would give the girl much time to herself, or allow much opportunity for her to be alone. Sighing resignedly, Lorenzo decided that a face to face wouldn't happen this time. But that didn't mean he couldn't at least inspect his new prospect from afar, now did it?

"All right, I'm coming over there now. Keep an eye on her. If she leaves, let me know."

"_Sure thing, Sir."_

**-----**

Emily, perched on one of the barstools, smiled as Lucky poured her a cup of coffee. "What are you doing back there," she asked him swiveling to her side a bit so she could face both Nikolas, who was sitting next to her, and Lucky, who was now leaning on the counter with his arms folded.

"Well, since Elizabeth quit, Penny's been stretched pretty tight. I just figured that, while I was here, I would give her a bit of a hand, before the poor thing keels over from exhaustion."

Emily nodded, understanding all too well just how hectic things used to get around the diner. "That's awfully sweet of you."

Eyebrows in full arch, Lucky flashed a wide grin. "Well, you know, that's just the kind of guy I am. Sweet, thoughtful… _insufferably_ handsome."

Leave it to Lucky, never afraid to toot his own horn. Never. "Is that so?" Emily asked, a hopeful smile springing to her lips. "Well, Mr. 'sweet and thoughtful', do you think you could spare any that good will for your best friend?"

"That depends, little lady. What do you have in mind?"

Nikolas knitted his brow in sympathy for his younger brother, observing the scene. "Lucky, you do realize you're not charming, right? Please tell me you get that."

Ignoring Nikolas as completely as did Lucky, Emily pushed on, looking between her longtime friends with hopeful eyes. "I have news. That's actually the reason I dropped by, I have something to talk to you guys about."

Nikolas knew it. And as he took in the adorable look on her face, the way her brow furrowed slightly as she gnawed nervously at her bottom lip, he smiled to himself. God, how he missed seeing that face. "Lucky, is it just me, or do you feel a _'favor'_ coming on?" Nikolas leaned closer and watched Emily's eyes narrow and her lips fall into a pout. He loved how easy that was.

"Why do you guys always assume that when I need to talk to the two of you, it's because I want something?" Emily didn't receive an answer, only more staring and an increasingly irritating smile. She glanced to Lucky, and finding that he wore the same amused expression, gave up.

"Oh fine," she huffed, dropping her attention to the purse which sat in her lap. She fished through it for a few seconds, mumbling to herself, and then came up triumphantly with a set of keys clipped onto a small silver ring. She dangled them out in front of her. "Here."

Lucky looked confused. Reaching out, he took them from her. "What is this?" He asked, turning the set over in his hands.

That trademark Emily beam stretched across her face. "Those," she said, nodding to the keys in Lucky's hands. "Are the keys to my new apartment."

Nikolas's eyes grew wide as his smile faded. "You moved out of the Quartermaine mansion?"

"So the bird has left the nest again, huh?" Lucky smirked, returning the keys to Emily's hand.

"More like flew the coop, only—with any luck—for _good_ this time." She noted the raised eyebrows and went on to set them at ease. "With Skye, Ned _and_ Baby Kristina all living in the main house, and Grandfather following me around all day, _never_ losing an opportunity to remind me of what a _"horrific mistake"_ I made with _"that deviant Zander",_ I think the novelty of living home again wore off pretty quickly. It's just too… _institution-like_ at the moment. Between the warring over Kristina and all the daily drama with Dillon, there's just _way_ too much crazy, even for us. I think it's time to go out on my own already." Emily sighed and pulled a hand through her flowing brown hair. "After rehab and Stanford I just need some peace right now, which is something I _obviously_ won't find there."

Lucky and Nikolas nodded sympathetically. Normally they would feel moved to do their "brotherly" duty and ask if this was really what she wanted, but it appeared that from her set jaw and the traces of saddened acceptance in her dark eyes, that Emily had already been down that particular road of deliberation. Family meant a great deal to Emily, and if she was willing to pack up and move away from it only three months after getting back home, then it was pretty safe to say that Emily had made up her mind. And everyone knew what happened when Emily made up her mind.

"So," Lucky started, "where is this place?"

"Brighton Terrace, Penthouse 5."

Nikolas guffawed. "Wait—across the street from _Jason_?" That should be interesting.

Emily nodded, rolling her eyes. "Well, you tend to do whatever your co-signer wants, especially when he happens to be your big brother. Besides, it was either Brighton Terrace or PH6 at Harborview Towers." Emily gave an involuntary shudder. She loved her brother dearly, but the mere idea of living that close to Carly was enough to make her eyes cross. "Trust me. This is better. A lot better."

"Okay, so you're not in the Towers, but you have to realize that won't discourage your brother, Emily. If anything he'll close ranks even tighter; he'll have guards stationed outside your door _all the time_," Nikolas reminded her.

"Well, if that's what Jase wants, it's not like I could do anything to stop him, Nikolas. And anyway, my brother won't be swarming me with doormen," she said confidently.

Nikolas gave her his best '_oh really'_ look. "And why would you say that?"

Emily brought the coffee mug to her lips slowly as she pitched her gaze in Johnny's direction. "Who needs just a doorman when you've got a twenty-four hour shadow?"

Nikolas and Lucky followed her gaze, instantly recognizing the bodyguard who stood motionless just outside the door. "Oh," Nikolas nodded, understanding, but then remembering who it was he was speaking to. Emily didn't like guards. Emily didn't like being coddled. Not in the least. "Wait, are you trying to tell us that you're okay with being guarded full time?"

The brunette shrugged. "I did it for Jason… and besides, it's actually not as bad as I thought it would be." Emily smiled as her gaze once again drifted back to the guard outside. "Johnny's a nice guy. Quiet, but nice. He's not as nervous around me as Max, either." Turning back to them, Emily took another sip of her coffee. "I think we'll get along famously."

Famously? That had better not have meant what he thought it meant. Emily was a good girl to the core, but the young Quartermaine had an unfortunate penchant for Bad Boys, and looking at this Johnny, Nikolas' throat constricted as he realized the bodyguard fit the bill perfectly. _Oh god, please not again… _She was just coming off Smith; she truly didn't need another Sonny wannabe sniffing after her.

Lucky watched, amused, as the lines on his brother's forehead deepened at the hint of fondness in Emily's tone. There was definitely a little room to play here, Lucky thought. Definitely. Leaning forward on his elbows, Lucky glanced behind Emily at the guard stationed outside, before ducking closer to his friend, grinning something wicked. "Yeah, well, just don't go falling for the guy, Em," he joked, taking a particular pleasure in Nikolas' jaw nearly crashing through the countertop. "If you want peace, going gaga over a bodyguard may not be the best way to go about getting it."

Emily nearly choked. "Are you kidding me!" She asked in a harsh whisper, swiping at her mouth with a napkin. "Johnny O'Brien? He's like a living, breathing extension of my big brother, how do you fall for _that_?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the same way you fall for your kidnapper." The second the words were out, Nikolas wished he could snatch them back, and erase them form the air. Because suddenly that's all there was: dead air. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Emily glared at him, her mouth slightly agape. She realized that after her and Zander officially called it quits, and with the spilt not being on the best of terms, that eventually she would have to face backlash from the decisions she'd made. But to say that Nikolas' words threw her for loop would have been a grave understatement. True, she had been the lonely teenage girl who fell desperately in love with her kidnapper, and who had spent the next few years tirelessly defending him at every turn, and all to no avail, obviously. It was a part of her life she was trying to put behind her, a chapter she felt better left closed for good, and to have Nikolas throw it back in her face like that stung. Part of her felt it shouldn't, but it did.

Where did he get off? It wasn't like his romantic past was all sunbeams and roses. Did the name _Katherine_ ring a bell?

No pun intended, of course.

But noticing how his shoulders dipped and his eyes closed in self-loathing; Emily decided to save herself the grief of defending her spotty love life, and him the torment of obsessing over a thoughtless comment. She opted instead for the much underrated method of Avoidance and Retreat.

"Okay, this has been… fun, "she drew out the word as she looked Nikolas in the eye. "But the movers will be showing up at my place pretty soon, so I'll just get—" Emily was already off the stool and halfway to the door when Nikolas' hand suddenly wrapped around her wrist and stopped her cold.

"Em, wait."

**-----**

Turning the key in his front door, Ric pushed it open, scanning the living room for any sign of his wife.

Empty. But that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't home.

"Elizabeth?" Ric called for her as he peeked his head into the hallway. "Elizabeth, sweetie, are you home?"

He waited for an answer, gauging the silence. She could be in her studio, he thought, but even if she was, it wouldn't matter.

Weaving his way to the far wall of the living room, Ric retrieved the small black remote from his pants pocket and pointed it at the wall. The panel slid back smoothly, silently, and he stepped inside the small cinder block room, depressing the button again to secure the door closed behind him.

Sighing, Ric slinked to the cot that stood against the far wall and dropped down onto it, his head resting in his hands.

So, he'd gone to Lorenzo, risking his life in an attempt to settle a score, and what happens? He _doesn't_ get what he wants, _and_ he finds a picture of his wife's best friend in the possession of PC's very own Big Bad.

What was he supposed to do with this? If it had been anyone else but Emily in that picture, keeping quiet would have been the obvious answer, not to mention the safest. But it wasn't anyone else. It was Emily Quartermaine, his beloved wife's dearest friend and most trusted confidant. How could he possibly allow harm to befall someone that meant so very much to Elizabeth? It would be akin to pushing Audrey in the path of a bullet, or tossing Sarah to the sharks, both things he could never conceive of doing.

But then, on the flip side of the coin, Emily was Jason Morgan's sister, and no doubt surrogate sister to Sonny. Allowing Alcazar to manipulate both men by way of Emily could be particularly rewarding. And seeing just how much Jason cared for his sister, the waves of anguish and torment would undoubtedly jump seamlessly from him to Sonny. If Alcazar harmed the girl, used her against his brother and Jason, Sonny would be racked with guilt over another innocent trapped in the endless web of pain and destruction that was his life. He would have no one to blame but himself. The cycle would continue. And if anything happened to Emily not even Morgan, for all his blind faith and unwavering devotion, would stand with Sonny when the dust settled. After all, even mindless thugs know the limits of loyalty.

The possibilities were _infinite_. And the aftermath could be _stunning_.

Sure, it wouldn't be the quiet revenge he'd thought out so perfectly. But it would be a careful and, most importantly, _painful_ deconstruction of the man he hated more than any other. And that alone could make his silence worth it, or in the very least tolerable.

But still, this was supposed to be about _Sonny_ (with Carly of course being an unfortunate victim of circumstance), but Emily? Ric didn't even know her. Did he really have the right to hold his tongue and allow an unsuspecting girl—who was Elizabeth's best friend, no less—to be used this way? If he permitted this, then he would become what he despised: a man who allowed innocents to pay for mistakes not their own doing, to bare the brunt of pain not intended for them.

If Alcazar hurt Emily, or… _oh, god_… killed her even, Elizabeth would be devastated, utterly heartbroken. How could he ever live with himself knowing he could have spared her that kind of heartache?

Ric wasn't an evil man, but allowing such a thing to take place would forever blur the lines between justice, and vengeance-at-any-cost. There would be no coming back from that. From _any_ of it.

No matter how righteous his cause, how necessary his actions, Ric doubted anything could ever truly justify Emily's death. She was too close to it all to be considered collateral damage, yet too removed from the situation to be viewed as a true target. The girl's only crime was being Jason's sister, and even that wasn't a crime. If anyone understood how little blood meant, it was Ric. Emily didn't deserve to be harmed or to die simply because of who her family was. Ric had made the mistake of thinking along those lines once, he wouldn't allow it again. But if Alcazar took this to the extremes Ric believed he could, then this would be so much worse than what he did to Courtney. Lorenzo Alcazar was a man who lived by a different set of rules than most. He wouldn't think twice about killing Emily if he thought it the best way to get what he wanted, and to also exact some kind of twisted revenge in Luis's name. Call it two birds with one stone, if you will. Hell, call it anything at all. Because under any name, Ric was positive it wouldn't be pretty.

Clutching his skull tighter in frustration, his fingernails digging into his scalp, Ric drew in a shaky, uncertain breath.

What the hell was he going to do?

**-----**

Through the chain link fence at the tarmac's edge, Jason watched as the jet that held Courtney, Carly and Michael took off. At his side, Sonny heaved a sigh, running a hand over his face. "It better this way. It's… safer, for everyone."

Jason nodded, still watching the jet trail up into blue. Uncertainty practically dripped from Sonny's words, but Jason new better than to point it out. After all, it wasn't like this choice was easy for him either. Nothing was easy about sending Courtney up those steps and watching her wave goodbye through that window. Nothing.

Sonny leaned back on his heels, suddenly very interested in the black asphalt between his feet. "Did you meet with Myer? Has he heard anything, any rumblings?"

He wasn't sure why, but part of Jason thought Sonny was going to say something else. What exactly that something was, he found himself even less sure of. But it didn't matter. Sonny decided to stick with what needed sticking to right then: Business. And Jason hardly believed the man could be blamed for that.

"Yeah," Jason said, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. "He's got nothing, Sonny. Not even a whisper."

Hints of curbed fury flickered in Sonny's eyes, mingling seamlessly with disbelief. "Nothing? That doesn't make any damn sense! How in the hell can he have _nothing_ three days after someone tried to kidnap Carly?"

Would sighing be redundant? How about throwing up his hands in disgust and stalking off, dumfounded as to how Sonny could be so unwilling to see?

_Yeah. Probably._

But Jason didn't much care right then. He'd tried silent obedience, playing the role of the 'good little soldier'. But he'd failed, miserably. And so for the past three days Sonny and he had been going back and forth in arguments. Jason had tried everything he could think of to get through to his friend, but nothing worked. It was like someone had dropped a soundproof box around Sonny. Nothing got in, and to be honest, nothing got out. Nothing but _'Ric didn't do it'_. Jason was spent. He didn't want to do this anymore, but when it came to Ric, he didn't think there was any other option but to keep pushing on until Sonny finally opened up his eyes and saw his brother for what he _really_ was. Not some jilted and emotionally unbalanced little brother, whose only true desire is to be accepted into Sonny's world, but as a heartless whack-job with nothing but revenge on his mind. With that harsh fact rumbling through his thoughts, Jason knew he couldn't just let this one be. There was too much at stake, even if Sonny couldn't admit that to himself yet.

Taking in a rough breath, Jason let out his simple reply. "You know why."

Sonny clenched his eyes closed in frustration. Surely this wasn't the relationship every mob boss shared with his Enforcer, being second guessed and quietly put in his place? Jason may have been his friend, his _best_ friend. Hell, probably the only man on this earth he could truly trust, but how many times would he be forced to go over this? Over the past three days Sonny had nearly lost count.

Squaring his jaw, he moved in front of Jason, burning two holes into the top of the other man's head. "Start digging where it _counts_, Jason." When Jason finally looked up, Sonny sighed, dropping his arms at his sides. "The sooner we get rid of this black cloud hanging over our lives, the sooner our family comes home."

Jason blinked once and kept his stare as vacant as Sonny's was desperate and cold. If Jason were a different man, he'd think that maybe—just maybe—the Ric who had invaded their lives, plunging it into a state of upheaval, had been snatched up and carted away somewhere, being replaced with this new, kindler, gentler… _trustable _Ric, whom Sonny seemed so keen on defending these days. But, Jason wasn't any other man, and he was still incapable of such fantastical thinking. Ric Lansing was still Ric Lansing. He was still the enemy. When exactly did Sonny start to lose sight of that?

Keeping his form stoic, Jason spoke with conviction, "I will make the person who is behind this pay, no matter who it turns out to be."

As usual, Jason had made himself clear in as little words as necessary. Most times, that ability had been one of the qualities Sonny admired in Jason. He was to the point, concise. He never minced words, and he never sugar coated a damn thing. And the Enforcer earned his brevity points here, each and every one of them. In one sentence, one reasonably short sentence, Jason had basically told Sonny—again—that he didn't care about his wishes, didn't give a damn about what Sonny believed to be true. The only thing that mattered was what Jason couldn't see past, what Sonny was beginning to believe Jason would _never_ see past.

Sonny weighed his options for a response. He could yell. He did that all the time, was quite good at it. He could threaten, remind Jason—who was still essentially his employee—that defiance was not appreciated and wouldn't be tolerated much longer. Sonny was quite good at that, too.

Or, he could hold his tongue and realize that he wasn't the only one hurt by all of this. Jason was being affected by what had almost happened and by what they had been forced to do as a result. In short, Sonny could let this one slide, as long as they never started up this sickening Did-Not/Did-To routine _ever again_. The whole thing was like beating his head up against a brick wall, just as productive and about as enjoyable. He wanted it done. He wanted it over. Even if that meant letting Jason have his suspicions of Ric, and even letting him act on them, just as long as he didn't get too carried away.

Because that's all they were, suspicions... right? He wasn't being foolish believing so adamantly in the truce offered up by his brother, _his family_, right? Ric wouldn't go so far as to try and steal Carly and the baby from him. The thought was twisted, so much so that the mere idea of it churned the contents of Sonny's stomach and fueled a steady, pulsating anger within his veins. _No_, Sonny thought, quelling his fears before they had a chance to take root. He and Ric would never be friends and they would probably never be able to stand one another's company, but they were still brothers. Family. _Blood_. That had to count for something. _It had to._

Shaking off the disturbing thoughts, Sonny looked at Jason again, resignedly. The coldness in Jason's eyes only managed to drain away more of Sonny's fight. Perhaps now more than ever, the difference between Sonny and his enforcer were excruciatingly obvious. Jason couldn't believe what Sonny believed, not until he could see proof that Ric had nothing to do with it. The accident that gave birth to Jason Morgan, was also responsible for making him into a steadfast man of logical, if not, at times, tunnel vision-like thinking. In his mind, Ric was all he could see. The only option, the only answer. And until Jason came across evidence to the contrary, Ric would remain all those things. Sonny couldn't verbally beat Ric out of Jason's mind, only Jason could dispel those suspicions. And in knowing that, Sonny turned and walked away, leaving the air around Jason thick with tension and heavy with meaning.

Jason watched Sonny's slowly retreating form, watched him climb into the black car, and watched Max drive them away. Jason wasn't stupid, he knew what that damn near unbearable silence had been about, what it signified. Sonny's silence gave him permission—although reluctantly—to peruse his misgivings. It wasn't anywhere near a blessing, but more like a defeated concession, a very unwilling one, but one nonetheless.

And Jason decided to make the best of it.

**----- **

Johnny's watchful gaze flickered to inside the busy diner as a sudden movement drew his attention. It seemed that Emily had gotten up to leave when something had ended her advance to the door abruptly. The bodyguard's face fell into a questioning stare as he tried to discern the situation. Why was Emily stopped in her tracks like that?

But as he saw the girl sink back down, defeated almost, into the swiveling stool, Johnny breathed out, relived, if not just a little annoyed with himself. He needed to get a grip, _bad_. The girl was with her friends… no big neon signs flashing "Danger!" here. Just chit chat and laughs.

Peeling his gaze away form her back, Johnny took another visual sweep of the courtyard. Kelly's seemed safe enough, he guessed. But safe was a loose term nowadays. The church was supposed to be safe. Look how that almost turned out.

Scrunching his brow, the bodyguard tried to push down the lingering thoughts of the other day, but as usual, found himself unsuccessful. They had come so close to having the unthinkable take place, and it just _ate_ at him. It shouldn't have happened, not there, not then, not on that night of all nights. That night was supposed to be a happy one _for once_, and instead events spiral wildly out of control, touching off a temporary period of complete lockdown.

God, he hated this, the not being able to trust in _anything_. Well, it wasn't like his could ever really trust anything in his line of work. In fact, _not_ trusting things was a part of his job description. Take nothing at face value, and so forth. But now… well, everything just seemed so much worse. Somebody had tried to scoop Mrs. C, and worst of all it had to have been someone _close_. So, understandably, it didn't take a genius to decipher why everyone was so _twitchy, _for lack of a better term. It was simple: silent enemy with immediate access to your nearest and dearest plus _not one_ iota of evidence to track the freak with equals one _hell_ of a problem. So basically, it meant that until the source was found, Jason and Sonny couldn't do a damn thing but try and cover their bases, which could prove difficult seeing as though they had an awful lot of them. But that was where he came in. It was his job to give Sonny and Jason the peace of mind that came with knowing Emily was being looked after and being protected fiercely.

Casting a glance back in her direction, Johnny stared intently for a moment, allowing himself to think on how agreeable the young woman had been with him, how eager to please, how unwilling to rock the boat, yet firm in her need to extend her thoughtfulness. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Something told Johnny that he wasn't going to mind his new job so much.

But to not mind it, he had to do it, which at that moment meant calling Jason to check in.

Unfolding his arms, Johnny reached blindly into his left jacket pocket for his phone, but came up empty when his fingers snatched at air.

_What the hell?_

As he hastily patted himself down, feeling for the missing cell phone, a disgusted look washed over the guard's features.

_The car… _

It seemed the bodyguard was suddenly faced with a dilemma. The cell was in the car, and he needed the cell to check in with Jason by… the guard tugged up his jacket sleeve and cringed. He had to call Jason by three o'clock—which happened to be in just a little under four minutes—or… well, Johnny didn't want to dwell too much on what would happen if he slipped up on that front, but it wasn't like he could just leave Emily unattended while he bolted for the thing.

The guard furrowed his brow in brief contemplation as he peeked in on Emily again. She was _fine_, no immediate danger looming over her, perfectly all right just sitting at the counter with Cassadine and Spencer. And the car was only a couple minutes away… he could go get the cell phone and be back before Emily even had the chance to notice. Nothing could happen in three lousy minutes.

Not even giving himself the chance to rethink it, Johnny turned and headed back to the car.

-----

Pure reaction kicked in and Emily wrenched her arm away, flinching as she saw the hurt flash in Nikolas' eyes. Oh god, she hadn't meant to do that.

Nikolas tried to shake it off, pretending as if her sudden movement away from him didn't sting somewhere deep inside. She had never done that before. And worst of all, he couldn't truly understand where it had come from. Sure, he had tripped over his own tongue and said something mind numbingly thoughtless, but was it really that awful? Could she really be _that_ upset? "Emily… look, I didn't mean to—" Guilt flooded her features as Emily brought up a hand to wave him off.

"Nikolas, it's…" Emily bit at her lip with a new tiredness creeping into her thoughts. She didn't want to fight. Not with him, not now, preferably not ever. "Just forget it, okay? I overreacted, went a little Drama Queen. No harm done." Emily finished with a small smile; one she hoped conveyed her genuine wish to squash this before it got bigger than it needed to be.

"No, Em. I shouldn't have—"

"It's finished." The words came out a bit more clipped than Emily intended, and she quickly flashed a watery smile to smooth the edges. "It's just…" She floundered a moment for the right thing to say, but cut herself off with a defeated sigh. "I really should get going."

As Emily rose from the stool, Nikolas tried again to go after her, only to have a firm hand bury itself in the back of his shirt, and stop him cold.

Nikolas turned to see Lucky shake his head in dissuasion.

"But she can't just—" As Lucky glared him silent, Nikolas thought fleetingly that complete sentences just weren't in the cards for him today.

"She wants to drop it," Lucky whispered. "Don't go digging for trouble."

"I don't want her to leave like this!" he hissed back.

Lucky had to admit he shared his brothers feelings, and even though Em wasn't ticked at _him_, he didn't want her going home all pouty and sad. It killed him when she got like that.

"Hey, Em?"

Lucky's voice drew her back just as her fingers touched the door. She pivoted to face him. "Hmm?"

Coming out from behind the counter, Lucky walked closer, his hands tucked boyishly into the pockets of his jeans. "How 'bout we come over later and help with the unpacking, order some pizza… maybe make a night of it? I mean, that was what you were gonna ask us about earlier, right?" he asked hopefully.

Emily let a chuckle rise in her throat. Lucky was a damn expert at that, at making her come around even when she really didn't want to. Smiling, she pushed lightly at the door, clanging the bell above. "That sounds good. I'll see you guys later."

**-----**

He could scarcely believe his luck. There he was, quietly observing flashes of long brown hair through glass, all while avoiding the watchful gaze of Emily's private guard dog, when said guard suddenly bolted from the courtyard as if his very feet were on fire. It couldn't have been more perfect if he had scripted it himself.

**-----**

Stepping outside, Emily let the wooden door slip from her hands while her eyes searched the stoned courtyard cautiously, a confused frown pulling at her eyebrows. It seemed her pre-approved stalker had decided to become slightly less, erm, stalker-like. Where the hell was he?

"Um… Johnny?" She said to air, flickering glances about the small area. "_Hello…?_ Johnny?"

With silence her only answer, Emily's frown gave way to a set of pursed, annoyed lips as her arms crossed over her chest. "Okay, I'm not exactly an authority on this whole bodyguard thing, but I'm pretty sure doing the job requires you to actually be, you know, _present_."

"I think you may have a point there."

Emily nearly jumped out for her skin at the silky baritone that pierced the silence. Turning to the voice, a breath caught in her throat, the image she encountered suddenly causing her synapses to fire all wrong. She knew there was no conceivable way she could be seeing what she was seeing, but she _was_ seeing it, plain as day. _Was that…?_ _No… it couldn't be. _Emily had only seen pictures, never got the _un-_pleasure of a face-to-face, but still, if memory served, this guy sure looked a lot like…

"Y-you can't be…" Her eyes squinted in examination, and Emily surprised even him when she took a tentative step closer to the man who now stood in the center of Kelly's small courtyard. "Aren't you, um… _dead_?"

So it wasn't exactly the response Lorenzo expected, but then most everything about this Quartermaine girl seemed to be surprising him. He liked it.

"Almost…" He grinned a slow, cunning smile, the one most women found damn near irresistible. "… a few times, but as luck would have it no one's managed to finish the job quite yet."

If it were even possible, Emily's brow furrowed more, Lorenzo's words not really registering. This couldn't be Luis Alcazar. He _was_ dead. This man was very much alive. "Who _are_ you?" The question left her lips so quickly, Emily didn't even think to explore the possibility that striking up a conversation with a man who looked just like one of the worst baddies to hit town in years, may not have been the smartest way to go, especially all by her lonesome.

Lorenzo extended his hand, his Cheshire cat grin still firmly intact. "Lorenzo Alcazar."

_Lorenzo Alcazar_? Lorenzo… _not_ Luis. Right. Of course. A _brother_… it had to be a brother. Emily tore her eyes away form Lorenzo's face, dropping them to his outstretched hand. Okay, was this guy serious? He was blood related to the man who kidnapped her mother, who killed Nikolas' Aunt, tried to kill Zander _and_ Sonny, left Alexis—the mother of her cousin—in the snow _while_ in labor no less, kidnapped Brenda…. Emily could go on and on. And this _Lorenzo_ guy just walks up to her, sticks his hand out, and expects her to shake it? In what universe exactly? Casually meeting his eyes again, Emily steeled her gaze, keeping her arms firmly crossed.

Point taken. This girl was tough, loyal. He could practically smell the contempt as it radiated off her. This one wasn't a fan of his brother's. Not by long a shot. Nor did she have reason to be. Replacing his arm at his side, Lorenzo tucked his hands into his pockets, his smile only faltering for a moment. "I see my brother's reputation once again precedes our name, even from beyond the grave."

Emily cocked her head to the side, still trying to figure out where all this was going. "Any reason why it shouldn't?"

With every second that passed, Lorenzo found himself understanding more and more why Morgan was so completely possessive of the little thing. She wasn't a push over, and she was far from a wilting flower, but there was so much more to her, in her _eyes_. He could see it, feel it even. She had an air about her that was deeply fascinating. "No, I suppose not," he answered her, still intently examining the fiery little creature that stood before him. "My brother made some… unsavory choices, did things that were—"

"Unconscionable? Horrific? Deplorable? _Sick_?" Emily stared squarely at the older man, a trick she picked up from Jason. "Feel free to take your pick."

At her quick as lightening reply, Lorenzo took a moment to unabashedly look over the petite brunette from head to toe. The girl was in warrior stance, her legs set sturdily beneath her, her arms folded, her shoulders squared. She wasn't the least bit intimidated by him, or even by the name. _Oh yes_, he thought, the term "fiery" fit her perfectly. Matching the way her head tipped lightly to the side, Lorenzo smiled again, wider this time, a nearly inaudible laugh rumbling in his throat. "You are very much like your brother, Ms. Quartermaine. It's hard to believe you're not blood related."

And there it was… the _giant_ red flag. This man was obviously just as much an enemy to Jason as the other one had been. It only seemed good business that he knew the ins and outs of Jason's life, which, of course, included her. But Emily would be lying if she tried to deny that Lorenzo's knowledge wasn't just a tad creepy. Her being adopted wasn't exactly something _everyone_ knew about. But if this guy expected her to shudder and gasp at the fact that he knew her name _and_ her bloodline, then he must have been off his rocker, or at the very least, not as up on her as he thought. "You know, it's funny how often I get that. Guess it just proves that even though it may not seem like it, some things are just meant to be."

Again with the surprises. Well, he couldn't say he whole heartedly believed she would squirm at his comment, just that he hoped it would have at least rattled her, if only a smidge. Since when do little girls find it all right to be approached by strange men who know their name _and_ their history? But then, Lorenzo supposed that Emily Quartermaine wasn't the average little girl, if one could even use that term in connection to her at all. "I suppose it does," he answered quietly.

"Fabulous." Emily said unenthusiastically. "Now, if you don't mind, I _really_ have to be…elsewhere." She didn't even give him another glance as she dropped her arms to her sides and began to turn away.

Without thinking, and honestly without even knowing why, Lorenzo reached out, his fingertips barely grazing the fabric of her jacket just as a hurried figure shifted into his line of sight, its face the very picture of fury.

"Get the hell away from her!"

-----

**TBC…**


	4. The Bend

**Somewhere In Between**

**-----**

**Chapter Four: The Bend…**

_**-----**_

He hadn't been sure of exactly what he was seeing. Doubt and impossibility warred furiously with reality as he stared at the man speaking to Emily. But the second he saw Lorenzo reach for her, Nikolas knew it didn't mater if what he was seeing was actual or just a mirage. He wasn't about to let that man touch her, whoever he was. In an instant Nikolas was through the door, barking a jarring command that bounced loudly off the stone walls of Kelly's courtyard.

"Get the hell away from her!"

Granted, his choice of words didn't exactly speak well for his royal upbringing, but Nikolas didn't have to time to care, let alone make his warning 'princely' in any fashion. He reacted on pure impulse, something he wasn't very accustomed to doing.

Emily spun around, her face shocked to say least. "Nikolas? What are you doing? I can handle—"

The dark haired prince didn't give her the chance to say anything more as he reached out and pulled her behind him, out of Lorenzo's reach. Nikolas squared his jaw and took a step closer to the mysterious man in front of him, grinding out his next words. "I'm not sure who you are, but this girl is off limits. You don't come near her. _Ever_."

Lorenzo could only smirk at the little display the young man had put on. Did he really think himself intimidating? Surely, someone would have to set the boy right. No good to have people wandering around under false realities. Lorenzo leaned to his side, looking past Nikolas to lock eyes with Emily. "Is this how he normally introduces himself to people?" Slipping his hand back into his pockets, Lorenzo straightened his back and looked Nikolas dead in the eye. "Because I have to say, I find it rather rude."

Nikolas refused to relent. This man had to have been the other Alcazar his foreign contacts had been buzzing about. The striking family resemblance wouldn't allow for any other possibility. And if that were true, he could be just as dangerous, if not worse, than his brother had been. And being dangerous in Port Charles almost always meant having some kind of a connection to Sonny, and Emily already had way too much of _that_ working against her wellbeing. She sure as hell didn't need a possible crime boss successor taking direct interest in her. "Just stay away from her, and you and I won't have any difficulties."

"Difficulties?" Lorenzo cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Was that an attempt at a threat, _junior_? Because if it was, I'd have to advise you against it."

"The name is Nikolas _Cassadine_," the prince stressed his family name. This guy was obviously important, or thought himself as much, and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, everyone important had heard of the Cassadines… _and_ their formidable legacy. "And let me be the first to tell you that you in no way frighten me. So, I suggest you leave now. There isn't anything here for you."

Once again Lorenzo peeked around Nikolas to look the surprisingly quiet Ms. Quartermaine up and down. "Oh I don't know. I think there could be an awful lot here for me."

Emily stiffened at the silky, suggestive words and for the first time since their "meeting", the brunette felt a spark of true wariness ignite in her consciousness. Lorenzo seemed charming enough, but she had no illusions. The man was a carbon copy of his brother, perhaps in more ways than one. And that equaled bad in the worst possible way.

Nikolas opened his mouth to sputter another angry warning, but before he could, the other man turned on his heel and walked away. And if the prince's ears were still as true as they used to be, Alcazar was _humming_.

"Nikolas…" He spun around at her soft voice, instantly struck by the confusion that shone in her delicate brown eyes.

He stepped forward suddenly, taking her by the arm and scanning Emily's form head to toe with a concerned eye. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Why was he talking to you? And where's your guard? Why are you out here unattended?" The questions rattled off in rapid succession, and Emily found her confusion falling away just as quickly, another sentiment settling in its place.

_Unattended?_ _The nerve!_ "Okay, back up a sec, Nikolas," she said, gently taking back control of her arm and running a smoothing hand over the slightly crumpled fabric of her jacket. "I'm _fine_. He didn't hurt me, unless you consider trying to _chat_ me to death inflicting harm."

"Emily…" Nikolas groaned. Sometimes this girl could be so damn stubborn. Did she always have to think she could handle _everything _that came her way? "This isn't a joke, okay? Do you have any idea who that man was, how dangerous he could be?"

The urgency in his voice stilled Emily and she let out a defeated sigh. Why was it that all the guys in her life seemed obsessed with overprotecting her? Really, couldn't they find another hobby? She wasn't new, she could take of herself, had managed just fine with the big creepy guy all on her own. That was until _someone_ decided she needed to be _saved_. "Actually," she breathed, not really all that concerned with curbing the annoyance in her tone. "I _did_ happen to catch a clue this time, Nikolas. I know _exactly_ who he is." Emily dropped her gaze then, the ground between her shoes seemingly interesting. "And _unfortunately_… he knows exactly who _I_ am."

**-----**

Formerly lost cell phone in hand, Johnny broke into a near run back to the courtyard and back to Emily. AS he rounded the corner to Kelly's, the animated display taking place just outside the diner's entrance managed to grind the harried guard to a halt.

"He knows who you are! " Cassadine nearly shrieked at a scowling Emily who appeared to be having no part of it. "Emily, how could you tell that man who you are? Don't you have any regard for your own safety?"

"Oh, for the love of…" Emily huffed out an aggravated breath and leveled a cold as ice glower at the prince. "A little credit, please, Nikolas! I'm not an idiot. I didn't _tell_ Lorenzo Alcazar anything. Someone already provided 'Mr. Look-alike' with everything he needed to know about me."

_Lorenzo Alcazar talking to Emily?_ _What in the hell? When did that-- Oh, God. _The bodyguard felt his heart nearly seize up in his chest when realization flooded through him.

Three minutes. Three _lousy_ minutes. That's all he'd been gone. Just to the car and back. Nothing earth shattering was supposed to happen in three godforsaken minutes!

"Lorenzo Alcazar was here?" Johnny showed himself and stepped between the pair, brow knitted, fists clenched.

_Well, look who finally decided to show._ Emily wanted to laugh. What good was a big bad, gun-toting bodyguard supposed to do if he disappeared, and at the worst possible moments? _Pointless much?_

"Well, there you are" She said coolly, trying her best not to seem peeved, but knowing she wouldn't succeed. She never had been good at hiding her feelings… well, her anger, anyway. "So what's the deal, huh? I ask you in for a bite to eat and you flat out refuse, saying '_I need to be outside to do my job'_, and then when I actually come back, you know, _outside,_ you go all invisible on me?" Emily took a deep breath and crossed her arms. "So, is this how the whole bodyguard deal works? Cause if it is, I think the system needs some serious work."

If Johnny hadn't been so anxious for an answer he definitely would have found the young Quartermaine's mini-rant (complete with air quotations) absolutely adorable. But, unfortunately, if what he'd heard was true, he didn't have time to be charmed by Emily's spit-fire sarcasm. "Was Lorenzo Alcazar here or not, Emily? I _need_ to know."

"Yes, he was." The dark-haired prince replaced himself between Emily and her bodyguard. "Which is more than I can say for you."

Again, Johnny didn't have the time or the desire to give a damn about what Cassadine thought or said. Admittedly, Johnny had slipped up—_major_. But now that he knew Lorenzo Alcazar—a formidable new enemy to Mr. C—had not only dared to speak to Emily, but also possessed some sort of knowledge about the girl; all that mattered was getting her to some place _completely_ safe, and letting her brother in on every single detail. Even the parts that made him look incredibly bad… not to mention stupid. But again, not the issue.

Emily nearly squeaked when Johnny's hand closed over her wrist. "What do you think you're doing?" Emily asked with shocked eyes, as the guard began to lead her away from Kelly's and a set-in-stone Nikolas.

"My job."

Emily rolled her eyes as the guard pulled her behind him. _Oh, that was rich_. Where was this career enthusiasm five minutes ago, when it would have actually helped some?

"Oh, okay. So does that mean I can expect you to wink out existence anytime soon?" Truthfully, she really didn't want to be so hard on the guy, but her encounter with Lorenzo had caught her off guard, thrown her bit. Though she'd never admit it to anyone. And if Johnny had been there, waiting outside like he said he would be, then she'd be blissfully free of the icked-out feeling crawling around in her gut.

"Not likely."

As they neared the car, Emily gave a very unladylike snort. "Oh, so _now_ you're all about the guarding again. Flip-flop like this often, Johnny?"

Johnny O'Brien wasn't the kind of man who rolled his eyes; he was more of the narrowing type. He'd always leaned more towards the silent, pissed of mystique. But Emily was coming closer than anyone ever had at bringing out his inner brat. Granted he deserved what she threw his way, but that in no way meant he had to like it. Or take it. This little girl had no idea what kind of bad just saddled up to her back there. And Johnny intended to lay it all out for the princess, whether she liked it or not. Affability went soaring through the window the second Lorenzo Alcazar reared his ugly head. The bodyguard didn't have time to play nice anymore. It was time little Miss Quartermaine knew the score, before things got out of hand.

Johnny stopped abruptly when they reached the car and pulled Emily in front of him, placing the girl between himself and the black Mercedes. Silently, he backed her up against the passenger side door, pinning her there with his eyes. "Now look, I realize that I messed up—" Johnny's jaw tightened at the little face she made. "Hey, I _do_, okay? It was stupid of me to leave you alone like that," the young bodyguard shook his head in self-admonishment. "But that's not the point now. What's important now is that you need to understand a few things about the man who talked to you back there. He is _bad news_, Emily, in every conceivable way. He is not the kind of guy you need to be chatting with; he's the kind you need to be running away from. Remember that, because if that creep made contact with you, _knew_ things about you, then I can damn near _guarantee_ it won't be the last you see of him. Men like that don't operate on whim. _Everything_ has a purpose, and _nothing_ is sacred. _Especially_ not little sisters. In fact," the bodyguard took a shallow breath and drew his face closer to hers, absolutely determined to make Emily grasp her new situation with undisputable clarity. "The closer, the dearer—the _better_. Do you understand what I'm saying here, Emily?"

Emily was captivated by the intensity in his eyes, and absolutely floored by the implications his warnings brought about. The proverbial light switch had just been flipped. And all she could manage was a tiny, wide-eyed nod in her stunned silence.

Maybe her little run-in with Lorenzo Alcazar hadn't been as coincidental as she thought.

-----

A flicker of movement on one of the monitors caught Ric's eye. At first, he expected it to be his loving wife, but upon further examination, Ric discovered it wasn't Elizabeth at all.

It was Jason, almost predatorily approaching the front door.

_Oh, how completely perfect_. Ric peeled himself off the low cot, and cast a glance back at the living room monitor before making his way out of the panic room. Running a smoothing hand over his dark hair, Ric made it to the door just as a series of harsh knocks erupted through the quiet house. He heaved a sigh of preparation. Visits from Jason were never fun; they almost always ended in threats of physical violence and/or implied death. _What a wonderful way to cap off the day. _

Allowing for one more bracing moment to pass, Ric undid the lock and pulled open the door to his rather perturbed looking nemesis. "Jason." Ric greeted him, his tone perfectly flat, conveying accurately every bit of enthusiasm he felt for this drop-by. The darker haired lawyer folded his arms and eyed the, thus far, silent man on his doorstep suspiciously. Part of Ric entertained this possibility since failing to nab Carly. He just figured Sonny would have waited at least a touch longer before deciding to sic his head-goon on him. _Oh, well… so much for the ties of family and all that garbage. _"Let me guess, you're in legal trouble… again," Ric let a harsh grin pass his lips. "Well, sorry, Jason, but I'm a tad busy at the moment. No time for hopeless cases."

A firm and, more than probable, _deadly_ hand reached out and stopped the closing door midway, sending it back, flush against the wall, with a jarring thud. "Cut the crap, Lansing." Jason glowered, pushing his way past Ric and into the house.

A set of deepened lines appeared on Ric's forehead as he stared back at Jason from the open door. Was he always like this? Ric wondered. Was being _this_ obnoxious and unnecessarily overbearing a permanent sate of affairs? Ric didn't see any other way. You can't half-ass that kind of social ineptitude. "Please, come in," Ric muttered as he closed the door. "My home is your home."

"Look, Ric, I didn't come here listen to your snide comments. I came for answers."

Fighting off a sudden migraine, Ric pinched the bridge of his nose. "Regarding…?"

"Carly."

That one word commanded all of Ric's attention, as he assumed it was meant to. _Certainly cuts to the chase, doesn't he?_ But then it wasn't as if Ric expected Morgan to be stopping by for a chat; that wasn't the nature of their relationship. Constant, never wavering antagonizing was more like it. And it was getting old. _Fast_. Sure, Ric was guilty as sin, but he'd be damned if he let Morgan connect those dots.

"All right," Ric huffed. "This is where I get off." He approached Jason with folded arms and a set jaw. "I am _not_ having this conversation with you, Jason. You already grilled me the day after the attempted abduction. I'm not all that interested in a round two, okay?"

Cold as ice and just as rigid, not one emotion, save unadulterated disdain, flickered over Jason's face. "I really don't care what you're interested in. You don't have a choice here. You had something to do with what happened at the church, and you're going to tell me the truth. Now."

No options? Ric could barely contain the ball of rage igniting in his stomach. Morgan may have been Sonny's right hand man in the mob world, but this wasn't the big bad streets of PC, this was Ric's living room and he wasn't about be dismissed as a insignificant in his own home. No way in hell.

With a surge of confidence unknown in its origin, Ric stepped forward, putting less than the standard acceptable distance between himself and Jason. "I believe you're mistaken. Not only did I _not_ have a thing to do with what happened, but I have plenty of options, not to mention rights. The first of which being the right to exist in this town without you coming to my _home_ and hurling baseless accusations at me."

The sound that rose form Jason's throat was uncharacteristic at best, ringing almost as a scoff in Ric's ears. "Quit lying to yourself, Ric. Everything you've done to Sonny, to Carly... to _Courtney_… you deserve a hell of a lot more than just accusations."

_Here we go…_ "And right on cue with the threats." Ric had to focus to keep his eyes from rolling involuntarily. It wasn't easy. "What are you going to do, Jason? Beat me up? Kill me and dump my body in a shallow grave somewhere? Because let me tell you, eternal rest is starting to look pretty good compared to living a life with you constantly breathing down my neck." Extreme? Damn straight. But as with Alcazar, Jason didn't respond well to cowering and if for some reason his little show of confidence backfired, well, then Ric assumed it would just be his day to die. After all, you can only tempt fate so many times in one day.

That tiny part of Ric that wasn't completely behind his confident and cocky demeanor wanted to squeeze his eyes closed as Jason's cold silence intensified, the stillness of the air practically drilling a hole in his brain. But then, mercifully, the Enforcer broke his Silent but Deadly routine and spoke: "Sounds good to me."

Wow. How completely… _predictable_. Still scary as hell, but run-of-the-mill nonetheless. "Nice," Ric said, the word dissolving into a light hiss as the lawyer shook his head as if chiding the other man. "Have you ever tried being even the _slightest_ bit original, Jason? Because I think even you could have managed to slip a little more creativity into that one."

From the moment Jason stepped in the door, his patience level began a nose dive for the ages, and now it had just hit bottom. He wasn't going to waste one more second listening to Ric play at being something even remotely worth the effort. Putting even less space between himself and the mouthy lawyer, Jason peered down his nose at Ric, his blue eyes steel-like. "Don't get cocky. You're nothing but a mistake and a coward and you know it. That's why your whole world is one big, twisted revenge fantasy. No one would miss you, Ric. And it just burns you up inside."

Okay, so Ric wasn't exactly Citizen of The Year, and he didn't have people banging down his door to cozy up to him. Well, except for Faith. He mentally shuddered at the thought. But he did have a wife, a beautiful and adoring wife who would most definitely _miss _him. "I beg to differ, Jason. Or have you forgotten about _my_ wife?"

Elizabeth. Jason felt a twinge of restraint kick in at thought of the petite brunette, just a twinge. She was a good woman; she just had allowed herself to be used by Ric, manipulated by his lies and constant head-trips. Losing Ric would sting at first, but Jason firmly believed Elizabeth's life would be the better for it. They may not be close anymore, but he still believed she deserved more than what she was married to. She deserved what Jason had with Courtney, a _real_ life built on _honest_ love, not what this pathetic excuse for a man had created around her. "She would get over it. Eventually."

Cockiness gave way to anger at Jason's insinuation. Elizabeth _loved_ him, damn-it. And he loved her. This was all for her, to avenge _her_. Bringing his arrogant brother to his knees was just icing on the cake. And speaking of unfortunate siblings, Ric couldn't waste the opportunity to remind Jason of what he suspected bugged the Enforcer most. That for all his blind devotion and faithful service, Ric had one thing Morgan would never have: Sonny's blood pumping through his veins. It was worthless to Ric, but to Jason… well, it had to mean _something_.

"And Sonny? You really think my _brother_ would condone my cold blooded murder? If you killed me, Sonny would hate you." Ric cocked his head to the side, his menacing smirk returning. "And that just burns _you_ up inside, doesn't it? Knowing that when it really comes down to the wire, he'd choose me, his _brother_, his _family_, over you… the hired help." The serpent in Ric went into full effect as a dramatic hiss hit the air. "That's really gotta sting, Morgan."

Games. That's all it ever was with Ric, just endless games and doubletalk. Nothing was straightforward, and for a man like Jason, nothing was more infuriating. Did he not remember all that went down a few months ago, the lengths to which he went just to stick it to Sonny? Who exactly did Ric think he was fooling? As far as Sonny himself went, the blinders may have been up, way up, but the truth was still the truth. Mending fences was the last thing on Ric Lansing's twisted mind, the absolute last thing. "It won't be long before both Sonny and Elizabeth realize exactly what you are, Ric. And when they do, there won't be anything left standing in my way, nothing between me and making Sonny's world a better place."

"And you think killing me will magically solve all of Sonny's problems?" A cackle crept past his lips. "Now who's delusional?"

Jason slowly shook his head, a deadly calm to his eyes. "Maybe not all, but a lot, and knowing you, probably not just for Sonny, either." The Enforcer relaxed his brow a moment, as if contemplating something. "In case you hadn't noticed, Ric, you tend to piss people off, the wrong people. Who knows, Maybe I'd be doing the public a service."

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Jason's last words, coupled with his decidedly unsettling nearness, stirred a flutter of caution in his stomach. And Ric's self-preservation instinct kicked it up a notch as he remembered the definite edge he had over Jason. Ric held Jason's heart in his hands, the fate of his precious Emily, and the fact that Morgan was none the wiser made it all the more delicious. He felt like laughing. This goon really had no idea who he was messing with, did he, what these blunt threats could unleash? _Fools, all of them…_ "Ever consider that my death could create a few problems, Jason? Problems you and your _family_ want no part of?"

Ric watched as the Enforcer's brow knitted in a fierce glare. Guess he didn't like having the tables turned on him. He realized his blunder in threatening what Jason held dear, and also by choosing to go about it in such a vague manner, but really now, how could Ric have possibly resisted? The look on Morgan's face was reward enough. And he was just getting started.

"I'm not interested in your games, Ric." Jason imagined truer words had never been spoken. He didn't find his way to Lansing's doorstep to go around in a never ending circle of puffed up bravado. Allowing this to go on any longer would only be playing right into Ric's hands; allowing himself to be distracted and thrown off course. Jason's visit had purpose, a purpose he intended to share with Ric. "You can try to talk your way out of it all you like, but I _know_ you were behind the attempt on Carly. And no matter how long it takes, I will make you pay for messing with Sonny's family."

Ric gave a hateful grin. "I _am_ Sonny's family, Jason."

The fact that Ric expected the Enforcer to waver at his words proved Ric didn't know Jason as well as he thought. Instead Jason merely stepped away, not a threat, but a promise forming on his tongue. "Not for long."

With that the room went deathly silent and Jason made his exit, leaving Ric's front door wide open in his wake.

As Ric watched him leave, an unsettling smile twisted across his lips, a gleam of pure wicked shining in his dark eyes. It seemed a visit from the henchman himself proved all the encouragement Ric's undecided mind needed.

He couldn't have said it better himself. And while the context wasn't exactly what Ric had in mind, Jason _was_ right. Elizabeth was a strong girl and she would get over it, but it wouldn't have a damn thing to do with _Ric's_ fate.

"You just screwed yourself, Morgan."

**-----**

_(Um… let's just say a few hours of nothing happened and it's nighttime now, okay? Good, read on….)_

The haunting full moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow about the darkened runway. It seemed the airport had become quite the popular place to take a business meeting.

"Care to explain that hideous smile?"

At his friend's words, Lorenzo's eyes drifted up and settled on Miguel's face. Miguel's smirking face. "Monitoring my facial expressions are we?" He asked.

"Well, after thirty plus years of friendship, I think I know your 'looks' pretty well," Miguel replied easily, his eyebrows drawing upward just a bit. "And that is most definitely your '_I've-got-a-new-toy' _look."

He really couldn't help the sudden laugh that choked out of him, nor could he do much to avoid the sly smile on his lips. He just felt… _happy_. Like everything was finally coming together, and not a moment too soon, either. The victory of it, if not just a tad premature, was intoxicating. He would never admit it, but the future that had just been mapped out for him and his business, made him a little… _giddy_. Exclusively on the inside, of course. Alcazars just didn't do _giddy_, no matter how good the news. "Let's just say I stand firmly behind our previous decision now."

"No more second guesses, hang ups?" Miguel asked, testing Lorenzo's new confidence tentatively.

"Not a one. All I see is potential, my friend."

Finally! A big, resounding, _finally_! Miguel felt like jumping for joy or breaking into song. Either one would capture his elation at this moment perfectly. Lorenzo had come around and now, as his friend had said so wonderfully, their futures were bursting at the seams with pure, unadulterated potential. The Potential to send Sonny Corinthos tumbling off his lofty perch in this town, and to do it with a deft touch. The poor bastard would never even know what hit him, and when he finally did realize, he and Morgan would be too far gone to give a damn about anything but getting their _precious_ Emily back. And after they signed over every last stitch of territory worth a damn, they _would_ get her back… but of course that whole '_alive' _thing was still open for debate. God, this felt good. "So, I take this to mean our plans are still in tact?"

Lorenzo shook his head. "Of a sort," he said, shielding his hands form the growing cold within the pockets of his pants. "I want you to stay. I'll go to Caracas instead and ready the compound."

Miguel's eyes danced in anticipation. Well, this day just kept getting better and better. What next, a bonus? "I get to focus on the main event?" he asked, gleefully clapping his hands together. "Goody."

Seriousness abruptly returned to the air, and Lorenzo sighed tiredly. "This is not a game, Miguel. She's wary of me and, after today, she won't be the only one."

'_Wary of me'?_ Miguel felt his good mood drain from him at warp speed. _Oh, good God, no._ Emily being '_wary'_ of him could only mean one thing, one very bad and very risky thing. "Please tell me you didn't." Miguel asked sharply. Lorenzo's unresponsive stare was all the answer Miguel needed and he let out a mournful groan. "Lorenzo, why would you go see her? Why on earth would you risk that now?"

"I had to be positive, and now I am," he said, fighting hard to keep the authoritative tone which always escaped him when dealing with Miguel. Most times Lorenzo felt like he was explaining himself rather than passing down an order, a weakness—albeit minute—that didn't always sit well with him. "Don't worry about it; just be sure to act quickly. Use as many men as it takes. Make the capture messy if need be. Just get her and get out."

Mild shock splayed itself across Miguel's handsome features. "Messy? Am I hearing you right? You want me to go in guns blazing?"

"No, that's not what I said." Lorenzo kept his jaw squared and deepened his baritone for emphasis. "Wait till she's outdoors, guard or no guard and go for it. If it comes to it, show as much force as necessary. I don't want her getting away, Miguel."

Miguel nearly rolled his eyes, but settled instead for an arched brow. "Do I look like Lansing to you? I think I can mange to capture that slip of a girl without her pulling a kick-and-run on me. I just didn't think we'd be approaching this like storming a castle. I thought it'd be more…covert_."_

"Our schedule doesn't allow for any such luxuries. In fact, it's working quite viciously against us. We have a backlog of pending shipments that _need_ to find port, and quickly. There isn't time for dawdling or waiting for the perfect moment, finesse isn't an option here. So again, anything, and I do mean _anything_ it takes to get her is what I give you my full permission to do," Lorenzo paused, drawing a short breath before giving Miguel the last of his orders. "Do what you have to do, but _don't_ hurt her, in any way." Hardening his gaze, Lorenzo gripped Miguel's shoulder firmly, needing to drive his point home. "She comes out of this completely unscathed, Miguel. Not so much as a scratch. Understood?"

Giving his usual nod, Miguel thought better of probing his friend's statement any further, although Lorenzo's resoluteness on the subject of keeping Emily safe did raise a few flags. Flags he would have to keep a definite eye on as things progressed. He just hoped Lorenzo—who had always been the… softer of them—hadn't allowed Ms. Quartermaine's obvious charms to distract him from the task at hand. Emotional derailment at this point would only be self-defeating; a thing Miguel would never allow coming to pass. "When?" he asked, subtly shrugging off Lorenzo's hand.

"Like you said, we need to move quickly. The sooner this happens, the better. And I want Emily Quartermaine at the Caracas compound as soon as possible."

**-----**

"Wow, somebody's living in style." A sharp whistle followed Elizabeth Webber-Lansing's words as she shrugged off her jacket and handed it to Emily.

Emily blushed slightly, not always completely comfortable with just how much her money and her brother seemed to provide for her. "Yeah, Jason doesn't really do things small, ya know?"

Crossing to the large, loft style window on the opposite side of the apartment's unbelievably spacious living room, Elizabeth claimed a spot on the ledge beneath it. She scanned the glittery cityscape of nocturnal Port Charles, but eventually her eyes zeroed in on something a little more familiar amongst the jumble of dimly lit waterfront warehouses and high-rises. "Is that what I think it is?" She asked, turning to look at Emily who had come to stand beside her.

"Elizabeth, you already know Jason's building is across the street."

The tinier of the two brunettes scrunched up her nose. "Yes, I do. But I didn't know anything about _that_," she said, continuing her inspection of building opposite them.

Emily squinted and followed Elizabeth's gaze. Oh, God. Why had she never noticed that before? "I don't believe it," she said, clasping a hand over her rising smile.

"I do," giggled Elizabeth. "This had Big-Brother-Jason written all over it."

Emily shook her head and gave her eyes a good roll, lowering herself next to Elizabeth. "Well, this explains why he insisted on _this_ unit," she said, narrowing her eyes at the apartment building across the street, or more specifically, the row of faintly illuminated, yet definitely familiar windows that stared back at her.

"He really has gotten good at that chaperone-from-a-distance thing, huh?"

_You have no idea_, Emily thought. She loved Jason dearly, but over the years she had come to realize that though Jason would never be as presumptuous or as stifling to actually choose for her, he was not beyond being a protective big brother. And this proved that perfectly. Emily turned him down when he wanted her to move to Harborview, and though a well trained eye told her he was a little disappointed, he came up with a "suitable alternative", one that placed her across the street from her brother and quite literally—as had become apparent—under his watchful eye, as well.

Jason's own penthouse, positioned directly across the street, overlooked her new home with perfect clarity. In fact, if he were standing at his window now, she'd even be able to wave, or toss him some other hand gesture.

Emily sighed. Once a big brother, always a big brother.

"So, are the guys coming by later?"

Elizabeth's cheerful voice dragged Emily from her thoughts. "Lucky is," she nodded, shifting in her seat to face Liz. "He actually invited himself."

A perfectly plucked eyebrow arched dubiously. "Only himself? What about Nikolas?"

Nikolas. Emily hugged herself and drew in a steadying breath. She really had to stop letting that man get to her, and stop letting her thoughts shut down at mere mention of him. Their… _incident_ earlier was nothing, hardly even a blip on the radar, but still. It and the argument after left Emily with that same old nagging feeling, like no mater how hard she tried for it not to, Nikolas' disapproval would always cut through her, always make her wince. "I'm not sure," she said softly, idly staring at the wedding ring on Liz's petite finger. "He may not want to after..."

Being the true and attentive friends she was, Elizabeth caught the doubt in Emily's tone with ease. "Uh-oh… you two go at it again?"

Emily looked up quickly, a little thrown by the 'again' part. "Liz, it's not like we fight all the time."

"No," she conceded. "But as far as non-couples go, you two sure do pitch a mean squabble."

Emily narrowed her eyes. "We do not squabble."

"Not usually, no. But lately…"

"Okay, so we've exchanged the occasional barb back and forth," Emily relented with a shrug of her shoulders. "But come on, Lucky and I do the same thing."

"But Lucky doesn't get all broody and silent, and you don't resort to that Avoid-and-Retreat tactic you love so much." The small brunette reached out and gave Emily's clasped hands a gentle squeeze, understanding gleaming in her warm brown eyes. "It's different with Nikolas, Em. Admit it already."

Sometimes she really resented how well Elizabeth knew her. Resented it, but thanked God for it all at the same time. Emily really didn't know what she'd do without her, or how in the hell she managed all that time away from her best friend. "It's always different with him, Liz," she sighed, traces of defeat weaving heavily into her words. "That's the whole problem."

Emily's woeful tone only made Elizabeth squeeze her hand tighter. God, did Nikolas even realize what a wreck he could leave her, how easily he affected her? He couldn't, she knew that. Nikolas was as oblivious as a rock when it came to this kind of stuff. Hell, he had no clue that Emily felt anything outside the bonds of friendship for him all those years ago, not until Emily did quite possibly the gutsiest thing she'd ever heard of, and kissed him square on the mouth in the middle of the park. But, that was a long time ago, only Elizabeth doubted that, though buried by time, distance and other loves, Emily ever truly stopped feeling for Nikolas in that way. What she felt for him was too real, too true, and too beyond her years. Something like that doesn't just stop being. It fades in its intensity, yes, but end? Taking in the picture Emily made before her, her friend's typically smiling face drawn in a saddened defeat of sorts; Elizabeth didn't think it would ever end for Emily. Some things just don't go away, no matter how badly you want them to. They're just… _there_. Always in your heart and never far from your mind. Elizabeth definitely knew the feeling.

Shaking free from her reverie, Elizabeth urged Emily on with another gentle squeeze of her hand, determined to set this conversation back on its cheery course. "So what happened this time?"

"Oh, nothing major. It was just Lucky being Lucky, doing his best to embarrass me." A furrowed brow from Liz pushed Emily to elaborate. "We were talking about my new bodyguard…" Emily cut herself off, giggling slightly, when Elizabeth waggled her eyebrows suggestively at mention of the handsome guard. "And Lucky made a big deal about warning me off him, telling me that it wouldn't be smart to go falling for him."

Elizabeth pulled a face. "Oh, no."

Emily nodded, her eyes slitting in recollection. "Exactly. He did it just to rile Nikolas up."

"And did it work?"

"Like a charm. My god, Liz, you should have seen Nikolas' face… mouth wide open, eyes bulging… he looked like a fish," she laughed.

"But a cute fish, right?"

"Well, _duh_," she giggled lightly. "Nikolas isn't capable of non-cuteness. It's against the rules of humanity or something; he must be adorable at all times." The smile slowly faded then, the saddened mask once again being dropped over shinning eyes. "Even when he is being a jerk."

A pang of sympathy shot through Liz as the mood once again became somber. "I'm sensing the fish-state didn't hold for long."

"Unfortunately," Emily replied dryly. "He took it upon himself to interject something about my less than savory romantic history."

"He didn't!" Elizabeth's eyes widened and her perfectly painted mouth curled into a frown when she realized that he, in fact, _did_. _Nikolas, you complete blockhead. _Was the man _trying_ to push Emily away? Because if his oddly abrasive behavior towards her during the past few months was any indication, than the prince might get exactly that: Emily, away… _again_. Elizabeth tried her best to suppress a sigh. For all his worldly knowledge, Nikolas knew not a godforsaken thing about how to handle the women he cared for. Not a one. "What did you do, after that I mean?"

"I went rigid and bolted for the door. But he grabbed my arm and we ended up having a sort of … _intense_ moment."

_Intense is always good. Intense is a sign of passion, and that's even better!_ The smaller brunette brightened slightly at the thought, but made sure to keep it well hidden "Ahh, Intense moments… you two are _really_ good at those."

A giggle, well, more a playfully indignant snort escaped Emily suddenly. "Shut up."

Elizabeth raised her arms in defense. "I'm only stating the truth, my dear. When you two have at it, you can cut the tension with a chainsaw." The brunette paused, looked at Emily pointedly, and scrunched up the bridge of her nose again. "It's all very dramatic."

But Liz's attempt at lifting her spirits seemed to have the opposite effect, and Emily's face grew grave, fiercely woeful. Elizabeth felt her heart pinch in her chest. "What if I don't want it to be dramatic, Liz? What if just for _once_ in my life, I want it to be _easy_?"

Liz lifted a tiny hand to Emily's hair, and pushed it back gently, soothingly, understanding written all over her face. "Oh, sweetie, there's no such thing when it comes to love." Elizabeth clamped her mouth shut at the look of perfect horror that swept over Emily's face. _Whoops-y…_ "U-um… what else happened?" She asked quickly, hand dropping back to her own lap, mentally scrambling for a cover. She knew Emily wasn't ready for that word in conjunction with Nikolas yet, that part would take awhile. But it would happen; Liz just didn't see any other outcome.

Emily shifted in her seat gazing out over the city with an absent eye. "Nothing much, really," she shrugged. "I left, ran into a creepy associate of Jason's, Nikolas went big-brother on me… again, we argued a bit, and then my guard literally hauled me away and brought me home." Turning back, Emily finished with a tiny smile.

"Right, sounds _very_ uneventful," Liz said sarcastically, rolling her eyes teasingly. But then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the smile left and Elizabeth began to snake her inspecting gaze around the relatively empty apartment. She seemed to be looking for something, or someone. "Speaking of damnably handsome bodyguards… where is he? Isn't he supposed to, you know, be _around_? That it how it works, right?"

A sneer in place, Emily shot the front door a withering glance. "Johnny? Oh, he's outside. He just _loves_ it outside."

**-----**

Johnny leaned against the wall beside Emily's door, infamous cell phone in hand. How could a hunk of plastic, metal, and wires cause him so much grief? Well, he knew the answer to that. The phone currently being clutched in his unforgiving grasp really wasn't at fault. This gigantic disaster was all him. He should have stayed put and waited until Emily got done with her friends. He never should have run back to the car to get the damn phone. He never should have given Alcazar that golden opportunity to get close to her. Never.

Johnny banged his head back against the unyielding wall, somewhat satisfied with the dull thud it made.

He could go through all the 'shouldn't haves' in the world, but the point was, he _did_.

And now he had to face the consequences. He couldn't let Alcazar's blatant contact with Emily go unreported. Even if—by some happy miracle—his job survived his silence, his conscience never would.

_Nope,_ the guard thought determinedly as he viciously punched a familiar number into his phone's keypad. He may find himself out on his ass, but at least Jason would take the proper measures to keep Emily safe. That was all that mattered now.

-----

A shrill, electric buzz pierced the still night air, and Jason dug hastily into his jacket pocket.

"Morgan," he answered gruffly, holding the phone to his ear. _This had better be good_, he thought edgily. After his encounter with Ric and even more fruitless digging, Jason was anything but in the mood for mindless interruptions.

"_Jason, Its Johnny._ _Look, I'm glad I caught you. There's something I need to talk to you about."_

_Emily_. A sharp wave of panic swept through him. "Is my sister all right?" He demanded, the edge in his voice only growing.

"_She's fine, Boss," Johnny said quickly. "But this does have to do with her, though."_

He was relieved, but the impatience wasn't gone. "What are you talking about?"

"_Lorenzo Alcazar, actually._ _He, um… he approached Emily today."_

_Alcazar?_ The bastard never should have been allowed within fifty feet of Emily… "Wait—hold on, he _talked_ to her? Where? What—_where the hell were you, Johnny?_" Jason demanded, words crisp, unforgiving.

There was a moment of hesitation and then came an onslaught of words seemingly forced out by nothing else but sheer determination.

"_I was gone from my post. I left her alone in Kelly's to get my cell phone from the car so I could check in. And when I got back, I found out that Lorenzo Alcazar had spoken with her." The guard took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Boss. I screwed up."_

"Yeah, you did," he said sharply.

There was a slow, meticulous intake of breath on the other end and then a quietly, yet firmly spoken statement.

"_Anything you need to do, Jason… I completely understand."_

"Johnny…" Jason trailed off, doing his best to quell his anger and disappointment. This was Sonny's best guard; he couldn't lose it on him. Years of faithful service prevented Jason for showing the other man that kind of disrespect, but it still didn't change the fact that Jason wasn't very happy. "Look, I appreciate that you told me the truth, but this _can't_ ever happen."

"_I know and I—"_

"No. Emily is my _sister_. She means everything to me and I entrust you with her safety. I don't need to lecture you about everything Alcazar is capable of. You know, you were _there_." Jason took a steadying breath. "With him and Lansing still out there, I need to count on her being protected, Johnny. I need to know my sister is safe with you, _always_."

A few seconds of what Jason suspected to be stunned silence ticked away, and then the other man answered, a quiet gratefulness to his words.

"_Emily will be protected with my life, Jason. I promise you that."_

**-----**

The ride had been silent so far, nothing but the softly humming radio playing in the background as Lucky and Nikolas made their way to Emily's penthouse, in the Jag of course.

Lucky decided to break the—in his opinion—mind numbing session of classical music that kept droning on and on and on… "So, hey… you were a pretty big jackass back at Kelly's." Lucky had never really been known for his tact, at least not where his brother was concerned.

Lucky watched said brother closely, noting the slight twitch of lips and the distinct narrowing of dark eyes, well, as far as he could tell from profile anyhow. The obvious negative reaction didn't discourage the Spencer in him though—hardly anything could—and he pushed on. "I mean, really man, way to stick your foot your mouth."

"Are you trying to help somehow?" Nikolas bit out, flashing a quick glance at his younger brother's—big surprise here—_smug_ face. "Because if you are I think you need to do a little research on the concept."

"Easy there, Princely," Lucky laughed, putting up a defensive hand. "No need to get all flustered, just stating a fact. You managed to royally—excuse the pun—screw up that little meeting with Em back there."

An aggravated sigh flitted through the cab's still air. "I know."

"That's all you've got to say for yourself, 'I know'?" The brown of Lucky's eyes flashed indignantly. "What the hell is that, man?"

"What else do you want, Lucky? I'm not sure what I can give you considering that I'm just as clueless as you are here."

That was exactly the problem. Lucky wasn't clueless. He knew all too well what the little _incident_ back at Kelly's had been about, where it truly rooted from. Of course he knew—he put it into motion, didn't he? _And why did he do that again_? Lucky couldn't be sure. Maybe it was the ass-backward mating dance his brother and his best friend had been performing right under his nose all summer. Sometimes he found it completely absurd as to how two people could behave the way they did toward one another and not even _realize_ the truth behind their own actions. Their obliviousness baffled him, and annoyed him. Greatly.

In the beginning, Lucky found it cute, endearing even, the little verbal jabs they slung back and forth. But lately, the quiet flashes of hurt that swelled in Emily's soft brown eyes during the 'episodes' gritted something in him. It made his heart bunch in his chest for her, and clench in anger toward his brother, toward _both of them_ all at the same time. While most times things were thankfully pleasant and easy, the fact remained that Nikolas and Emily had taken to making one another miserable, quite completely and with surprisingly little effort. Today proved that. One tiny, but damn well aimed remark sailed through the air and managed to strike her right where it counted. In the one place their returned Emily seemed to keep well guarded nowadays: her heart.

Lucky saw the way it stung her, read it all over her face and kicked himself the second Nikolas let the one-liner rip. Lucky felt responsible, and in truth, he was. Lucky foresaw the potential rift, meaning O'Brien, and decided, on pure whim, to toss it out there before his brother had the chance to do it on his own terms. Lucky's intent (aside form having a little fun) had been to stun Nikolas silent, disable the subject, and get on with their conversation, effectively avoiding another showing of the 'Nikolas and Emily Battles'. But, of course, it hadn't really worked out that way. Seldom ever did when it came to those two, lately at least. "Well, I wasn't asking for me. Emily's the one you threw for a loop."

Another sigh, deeper, more resigned this time. "It tried to apologize, Lucky, _she_ wouldn't let me. _You_ wouldn't let me."

The Spencer brother raised an annoyed eyebrow. "When does she ever? And besides that, I wasn't trying to keep you from apologizing; I was trying to keep you from pissing Emily off… well, anymore than you already managed to."

Nikolas chanced a glance at his brother, dumfounded to say the least. "In what way would my saying that I'm sorry _upset_ her?"

Lucky held in a snicker. "God, you really are clueless aren't you?"

His hold on the steering wheel suddenly resembling a death grip, Nikolas groaned in frustration. "Didn't I just say that!"

Aside from how humorous this moment could have been, Lucky, being the person he was, couldn't help but feel a little sorry for his brother. Nikolas had never really been too good at this kind of stuff, the emotional sides of their two favorite girls that is. Actually, Nikolas tended to be as dense as a concrete wall at times. Sure, he could spot a fake smile and a heavy heart in Em, or Liz for that matter, a mile away, but asking Nikolas to understand the intricacies of their feelings and reactions to things? Well, that would be like asking Nikolas to name the entire starting line up for the New York Giants. Chances are he wouldn't be able to do it.

Sighing, Lucky tried his best to explain, inwardly doubting if any of it would really sink in. "Look, with Emily… she just, the past is hard for her, Nikolas. You _know_ that. And the Zander stuff… thinking about it, talking about it… well, I think that's the hardest of all. She just doesn't like to bring it up anymore; it isn't easy having to admit all over again just how wrong she was when she believed with everything in her that he was worth it, when he _wasn't_. It's the very definition of a sore subject and here you are, Prince Nikolas, the overbearing, overprotective best friend whose opinion—for some unknown reason—happens to mean a hell of a lot to her, throwing one of her less favorable decisions right back in her face. How did you think she'd react, huh?"

Nikolas took advantage of the stoplight to digest his brother's words. Honestly? Nikolas had no idea what he expected to gain from the remark. Except that when the words came to his lips, his mind seemed to be running on a completely different track, busy being preoccupied with envisioning disastrous scenarios involving Emily and her new guard. It was like someone flipped on a flashing danger sign in his head and before he knew it, versions of the future, with Emily hanging all over that shaggy-headed bodyguard started running through his thoughts at warp speed. Suffice it to say, all sense then theft Nikolas Cassadine's brain, in favor of complete thoughtlessness and utter stupidity. At that instant all he wanted was to jolt her back to reality, and prevent her from entertaining thoughts of following another doomed man down a dark path. Though somewhat tangled and unclear, he knew his true intent couldn't have been malicious; it never was when it came to her. His actions or words, however blunt or rash were always pointed toward a nobler aim: keeping Emily protected, even if only from herself. It was a habit the Prince couldn't break, one he had no desire to break. "Look, I'm not even sure what happened. I didn't mean it, Lucky; it just flew out of my mouth."

Lucky shook his head as the car sped up again. "That's exactly the problem. You never mean it, Nikolas, but you _always_ do it."

"Always?" Nikolas surprised even himself with the pitch his voice took on. But it couldn't be helped, that took the prince by surprise. "What on Earth are you talking about? Emily and I don't always fight and I certainly don't bring up Zander all the time. I positively _loathe_ the idiot, Lucky, You _know_ that. I'm happy they split up, in my eyes that jerk was never good enough for Emily, _never_."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. You may not always fight with her in the traditional sense, buy you _always_ have something to say about her life, about her choices, romantic or not, even from before. It's just gotten worse since she got back." Lucky paused and considered his brother's profile for long moment, positive his words wouldn't be well received. "It seems like you're always dissecting her life, cutting it up into the parts you approve of, and the parts you don't. And I really don't care if you only have 'her best interest at heart'; it isn't your place to pass judgment on her, Nikolas."

Well, Lucky had been right, dead right. "I do nothing of the sort!" Nikolas yelled, his vehement denial echoing through the car's enclosed cab.

Lucky winced but just slightly. "Hey, take a breath, okay? Like I said, I'm just calling it like I see it, something you should be used to by now."

The Prince closed his eyes and tried hard to level out his temper. He'd already allowed it to get the best of him once today, yelling at Lucky would accomplish nothing. Nothing worthwhile anyway. "And what, pray tell, is it that you see, _brother dear_?" Nikolas, though quieted considerably, didn't bother to still the acidity in his voice.

Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, Lucky said the one thing he knew Nikolas wouldn't be expecting, but also the most truthful thing he could think of. It was time someone opened up his brother's eyes. "A guy who's slowly realizing that he let something _incredible_ slip through his fingers, and who really isn't handling it very well."

**-----**

"You can't come in here, sir." The tall guard pushed at Jason's chest, attempting to keep him in the hallway. How the man even got on the Yacht in the first place was puzzling enough, he certainly didn't need another uninvited guest making his way to Mr. Alcazar's office for a second time that day. He shoved at Jason's chest again, receiving a deadly glare as a reward.

"First of all, get your hands off me." Jason kept his glare with the other man as the guard's hands slipped from the leather of his lapels and back to his sides. "Second, I'm Jason Morgan, and I'm here to see your boss."

The guard tilted his head, no doubt considering the validity of Jason's statement. "I don't care who you are, Mr. Alcazar isn't taking any visitors at the moment."

Without another glance, Jason forced himself past the dimwitted guard, throwing a stern, "Trust me, he'll make an exception" over his shoulder as he barged right into Alcazar's study.

What met Jason's eyes, though, set the Enforcer's brow in a confused and somewhat wary tilt. Alcazar's desk was occupied all right, but the man behind it didn't look anything like him. The man was an associate of Alcazar's, a right-hand-man of sorts. He also had quite the reputation for being just as much of a ruthless bastard as Luis ever was, and twice as a crazy. And that was saying something. "Where the hell is Alcazar?" Jason snapped, nearing the desk with cautious, measuring eyes.

The other man didn't answer right away; instead the dark haired man rose from his chair, revealing himself to be of fairly impressive height, with an equally impressive build. He crossed to the front of the desk and made a drawn out production of leaning against it, the picture of leisure, as he never broke gaze with Jason. This was definitely a tough guy, a _bigheaded_ tough guy. _Great_, Jason thought dryly, _just what we need around here, another arrogant pain in the ass_.

"I believe we haven't been properly introduced. Miguel Garcia-Covas," he said with a small quirk of a smile, confidence—legitimate confidence—dripping from every syllable. He stretched out his hand to Jason.

Jason lowered his gaze to the outreached hand, and then back to the other man's face. "Jason Morgan," he said back, keeping his arms to his sides, blatantly snubbing Miguel's' gesture. Jason wasn't there to make friends or to shake hands with psychos.

A light chuckle rose in the back of Miguel's throat as he withdrew his hand from the air. "I know very well who you are, Mr. Morgan, very well indeed."

"Good for you. Now, do you mind telling me where Alcazar is? We have a few ground rules to set and I don't like wasting my time."

Miguel drew his arms up and crossed them over his chest, all while looking quite bored. "I'm afraid Lorenzo's not here," he said smoothly, gesturing to the otherwise vacant study. "As you can see."

"When will he back?"

Miguel shrugged his shoulders, the movement laden with poised and unflappable grace, a trait he shared with Jason. The mark of a Made Man. "I'm afraid not for a while. You see, he's out of town. Just left tonight, in fact. Pity, you only just missed him."

_Left town?_ Jason felt relief creep through him, but it was short lived as he let his deductions go deeper. If Lorenzo was out of town he couldn't try to chat up Emily or harp on Sonny about territory, but if he was out of town, it could be some sort of effort to cover himself, deflect attention or—and this was unsettling—construct an alibi. But it could also be nothing. There was no way for Jason to be sure, not with a man he knew next to nothing about. "Is he coming back at all?"

"Of course," Miguel grinned coldly. "Lorenzo has a vested interest in this city. But then I don't have to tell _you_ that. Do I, Mr. Morgan?"

Hardening his glare, Jason began to remove himself from the room. "Tell your boss I need to speak with him," he said sharply. "It has to do with that 'interest' of his."

"Will do, Mr. Morgan, will do."

With that Miguel watched through hooded eyes as Jason exited the study, pushing past a clearly pissed off Rico.

The second Jason was out the door and it closed after him, the amused smiled fell from Miguel's face, and a look of twisted anger filled the void. _What the hell have you started, Lorenzo?_

The stakes were already high, the game had already been stripped of its rules, and the plan had been handed to Miguel to execute as he saw fit, as _brazenly_ as he saw fit. But if Morgan was on the scent then that changed everything, absolutely everything.

Lorenzo's lack of self-control, of _judgment_, had just forced Miguel's hand sooner than either of them had been ready for. They would have to move quickly, and before the girl's dear brother got the chance to build an army around her and extinguish their last hope.

Reaching behind him for the telephone, Miguel's fingers quickly worked Pedro's cell phone number into the dial pad. With the phone held tensely to his ear, Miguel needed only to utter one solitary sentence, a sentence which would plunge Emily's life into unimaginable and irrevocable turmoil.

"Assemble the men, its time."

**-----**

**TBC**…


	5. Before the Break

**Somewhere In Between**

**-----**

**Chapter Five: …Before The Break.**

**-----**

The small group of men—an even half dozen in all—appeared the picture of menacing might: deadly and dangerous. Inky shadows clung to their faces, weighing down their features and masking their darkly clad bodies in the scant moonlight. At the fore, Miguel stood tall, the most impressive of the bunch. And In his eyes, a spark of raw determination flashed icily, allowing only a small glimpse to the ferocity within.

And the reason for that ferocity? Well, that was simple. They were close, so very close that Miguel could taste it. But—and there always seemed to be one of those when it came to this girl—between him, Lorenzo, and their goal lay one more previously unforeseen boundary, one more hurdle.

Modern technology.

It seemed the Quartermaine girl lived in a gated building. Morgan had been more thorough than he ever could have imagined. Just thinking about it made Miguel's fists clench at his sides. All this work, assembling a team, planning an escape route, readying the jet, and they had been pushed off schedule _hours_ by a damn iron gate locked tightly with an electronic keypad and a revolving code. The lunacy of it all had threatened to bring out the less-than-diplomatic side to him.

But, fortunately for Pedro and the rest of the group, the crushing urge to level some poor soul to dust had since passed. And in its place, an alteration to plans and an alliance that made Miguel bite down on his tongue to keep from howling in hysterical laughter.

Here they were a pack of highly trained and extensively armed henchmen, on the doorstep of Port Charles' resident Looney Tunes reject, Ric _freakin'_ Lansing, about to ask for his… help. His _help_ for God's sake. Could it get any worse?

He supposed they didn't have a choice, not with things being down to the wire, as they were. But still, seeking out Lansing to gain access to Emily's building? That chafed the ego like nothing he'd ever known.

Flexing the tension in his jaw loose, Miguel shot Pedro a pointed look. The guard nodded once and sunk even further into the shadows, taking the men with him. Miguel rang the doorbell.

Within a few moments, Lansing slung open the door, his face crashing around him in obvious dread. Miguel hid a smile; Lansing thought he was there to kill him. _If only._

"What are you doing here?" Ric's words seemed to barely pass his lips in a steady stream. The man was clearly trying his best to hold it together.

"Not for what you think," said Miguel through clenched teeth. His next words took even more effort, using every last shred of resolve he had left in him. "I need your… assistance."

That's when it came, the most condescending smirk ever to attach itself to Lansing's face. Miguel was sure of it. "So, Lorenzo finally realized all I could bring to the table, did he?"

"No," snapped Miguel, stepping forward over the threshold. "We hit a snag tonight and need to make use of your connections to the Quartermaine girl." He hated divulging that information to anyone, let alone to an incompetent like Lansing. But at this point, Miguel didn't have the luxury of discretion. They needed that code and Lansing's wife was presently _at_ Emily's apartment. If anyone could get it on such short notice, Ric could. Using creative methods, of course.

Ric's eyebrows drew up, not surprised but more like assured. Lorenzo did mention that Lansing had happened upon something sensitive, that he may know more than he should. The glint in Lansing's eyes told Miguel that Lorenzo had been correct; Ric had suspected their actions and his request for facilitation had just confirmed those suspicions.

But along with confirmed suspicions came questions. "So, you are going to take Emily, then?"

Miguel nodded slowly. "Yes, tonight." A beat passed and Miguel hardened his gaze, straitening himself in a rigid, intimidating stance. "And your silence is recommended, Mr. Lansing. That is, if you're fond of your heartbeat."

Ric didn't seem as frightened by the threat as Miguel expected. But then Lansing was a little off. "No need to threaten, Miguel," he said, waving an almost dismissive hand. "Your secret's safe with me. I won't stand in Lorenzo's way."

Miguel allowed the words to sink in, going over their legitimacy, whether or not they could be trusted. Frankly, Miguel still felt Lansing could go either way. Once a sneaky weasel, always a sneaky weasel. "For your sake, Ric, I hope you stand by those words."

Ric held his gaze, albeit guardedly, for a long moment and then dove back into the issue at hand. "You said something about needing my assistance?"

"Unfortunately," nodded Miguel. "Her building is gated, as in the entrance is blocked by a large electronic security gate that only unlocks with personally assigned codes, codes that we need."

The lawyer in Lansing began to pierce the surface, eyes becoming thoughtful. "And you think I can help you with that? How? I've only met the girl once or twice, what makes you think she gave me her security code?"

"Oh, we know she didn't," said Miguel. "She's Morgan's sister, I have every confidence that she's well versed in the sensitivities involved in being a part of his life." Slitting his eyes darkly, Miguel continued, skillfully keeping the mild amusement he felt from seeping into his tone. "In other words, Ric, the girl knows better than to trust men like you, married to her best friend or not."

When Lansing's left eye twitched fittingly at his comment, Miguel had to bite the inside of his lip briefly to fend of his own smirk. "Right," began Ric, voice a little stiffer. "But I still don't see how you think I can help you. Emily doesn't know me beyond my ties to Elizabeth; she won't give me the code. She has no reason to."

"But your wife will."

Realization swiftly dawned in Lansing's eyes. "No." Ric backed away quickly, shaking his head furiously. "I will not let you drag my wife into this. I've already decided to keep my mouth shut about this plan, don't expect me use her in aide to the kidnapping. I _will not_ do that to her."

"Calm down," said Miguel sternly, warning flashing in his dark amber eyes. "All you have to do is call her, make up some excuse or reason why you need to stop by Emily's apartment, convince her to give you the code, then at the last second change your mind and get her to come to you, helping to clear out the apartment for us. Elizabeth will have no clue what you just did. We get the code, the girl, and you get to watch as Corinthos and Morgan suffer." An evil grin curled over Miguel's lips. "I think it's a win/win situation, don't you?"

Ric blinked at the scenario presented to him, peering at Miguel disbelievingly. "Why don't you just smash the gate and go get her? Why go through all this trouble? It doesn't make any sense."

Miguel closed his eyes for a moment and willed his patience to return. Why couldn't this just be _easy_? Why did Lansing always have to push? "You really aren't familiar with the term 'stealth', are you? If we smash that gate we narrow our work time to ten minutes, at best, before the authorities swarm the building, and Morgan descends upon it with an army of guards. If we enter _legally_, we have all the time in the world to get the girl and get out without arousing suspicion. We need those codes, Ric, and you're going to get them for us. One way…" Miguel lessened the gap between them, and pushed his leather coat open just enough to expose the brilliant metal of an M9 Beretta holstered on his belt. "…or the other."

**-----**

"Hmm… how 'bout over there?" The tall brunette gestured to the room's far corner with thoughtful eyes.

Nikolas and Lucky exchanged exasperated looks. "I for one think it looks great right were it is, Em," Lucky piped up, knowing full well that if they didn't nip Emily's indecisiveness in the bud right here and now, they'd be spending the rest of the night rearranging this blasted living room set of hers.

Emily's nose scrunched up in thought, her bottom lip caught in-between the unsure hold of her teeth. Nikolas fought the urge to smirk appreciatively at the picture she made. With one hand set loosely on her hip, the other up under her chin, her fingers absently rolled the simple gold cross around her neck while her golden brown hair flowed around her impossibly cute face.

_Was she always this beautiful?_

The Prince suddenly sucked in a sharp, but largely unnoticed breath (Lucky shot him a raised eyebrow). _Where did that come from?_

God, between sudden mental flickers claiming Emily's beauty and mental visualizations of a Mrs. Emily O'Brien dancing around in his head, the prince resolved that he most definitely needed to get a better hold on his thoughts. Oh yeah, his head was absolutely starting to run away from him.

Damn Lucky. Damn Lucky to Hell. This was all his fault. Nikolas never would have allowed himself to obsess over how much he was obsessing if Lucky hadn't started that inane line of questioning in the car ride over. _Let something incredible slip through his fingers_? What the hell did that mean, and why did Nikolas have a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the woman who was currently frowning rather intently at the deep plum colored sofa he was standing in back of? The Prince pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Good lord, why did thinking about this make his head hurt?

"Nikolas, are you all right?" Emily's sweet voice filled his ears and Nikolas looked up, finding the cuteness gone but instead replaced by look of genuine concern that warmed his heart all the more.

"I'm fine," he said, sending her a subtle smile. It felt good to look into her eyes and not see the tension, the doubt. "But I'd have to agree with the blockhead, here." Nikolas jerked his head to his left at Lucky. "I think the room looks perfect like this."

She shrugged her shoulder's with a grace innate to her, and gave the richly decorated room another once over. "I guess," she sighed. "But something still seems, I don't know… _off_."

"Maybe it's more the apartment than the furniture, Em," offered Elizabeth from her perch on the coffee table. "I mean this will be your first night here, it won't feel like, you know, _home_ for awhile."

"That's right," said Lucky, lifting himself over the sofa's back to take a seat against the overstuffed cushions. "You have to break the place in first, get it all lived in. Then if won't feel so much like a ridiculously large hotel room."

Emily let out a small giggle. "Right, cold and impersonal… just what I always wanted in a new home."

Well, the Prince could definitely sympathize. Wydemere didn't exactly bring on the warm and fuzzies. "Give it time, Em," he said, allowing his unknowingly intense gaze to lock with her soulful brown eyes. "You can work your magic on anything." _And anyone, he added silently._ Apparently that control of mind thing just wasn't going to happen. _Damn you, Lucky._

Elizabeth and Lucky exchanged a look of their own, and Lucky quickly drew himself off the couch and next to Liz on the coffee table. "Just look at them, "he whispered to her, watching the pair intently. "Do they even have a clue?"

"Not a one," she said, a tiny smile forming on her lips as she watched Emily draw Nikolas to the window seat, presumably to show him the view. "But something tells me that won't last for long, one way or the other."

Confusion bloomed in Lucky's eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I don't know about Nikolas, but Em is certainly getting to the end of her rope with all this odd behavior they've been suffering through. She's tired of it." Elizabeth looked from the softly speaking pair to Lucky at her side. "She hasn't said as much, but I _know_ her and I'm getting the feeling that things need to evolve between them soon, or I think Em will just wash her hands of it altogether."

Lucky's gut did a slight flop at the insinuation. "You mean… _move on?"_

Elizabeth nodded, somewhat saddened. "Her relationship with Zander gave her a new appreciation for the simple life. She wants things simple from here on out, Lucky, and your brother is not making any of this nonsense _simple_. She's sick of holding onto a memory, and you know what? I don't blame her one bit." Something violently wistful, but quiet all at once, seemed to attack her tone then, setting the young woman's painted mouth in a thin, reflective line. "Sometimes living in a dream of the past is the most harmful thing you can do to yourself."

_Dream of the past… was she talking about the baby or… something else?_ There definitely weren't any shortages in the 'something else' department. She'd been through so much in her life, too much. Lucky's heart suddenly felt heavy in his chest. If there was one thing he hated in this life, it was to see the women he cared about in pain; Elizabeth was still one of those women, no matter where their lives had taken them. "Elizabeth…"

She didn't give him the time and instead retrained her eyes on their friends, shaking loose the errant melancholy. "I want her to be happy, Lucky and I think that if he tried hard enough, Nikolas could do that for her. I mean, since she got back, his 'interest' has been painfully obvious, and the same goes for her. He damn well sees that she's not a little girl anymore; he just needs to get around himself first. They _both_ do."

Lucky snorted. "I've tried to help along the process. Believe me, I've tried."

Elizabeth eyed him, eager to know how the attempt had gone. "And…?"

"Well, what can I say? He's kind of an idiot. A big, royal, _dense_ idiot."

It was Liz's turn to laugh. "You just figuring that one out?"

Before Lucky could answer, the electric hum of a cell phone erupted between them. Elizabeth's eyes widened and she fumbled into her back pocket, coming up with the ringing phone.

"Hello?" she answered tentatively as she pressed it to her ear. God, she hoped it wasn't something about the art show. She couldn't stop thinking it was going to fall through for some reason, couldn't quite believe that it was actually going to happen… to _her_. Since when do things that wonderful happen to _her_?

The soft sound of her husband's greeting came over the receiver instead and relief flooded through her body. Shooting Lucky an apologetic look, Elizabeth quietly moved to the closed off kitchen to finish their conversation.

"Hey, sweetie," she said happily. "What's going on?"

Ric's voice came over the line abrupt and rather rushed.

"_Well, it seems I've misplace my set of house keys," he said gruffly. "And I can't seem to find the spare set, either."_

Elizabeth grimaced. "Oh-no," she grimaced. "I took them to have some copies made; did I forget to tell you?" She didn't think she had, in fact she clearly remembered mentioning something…

"_You must have," he replied, his voice coming down a notch, calming. "It's okay, though, they extra keys are a good idea with the way I misplace things."_

She nodded, reflecting on just how absent-minded her new husband could be at times. "So, I guess you're locked out then, huh?" She asked, nibbling at her lip, feeling bad for putting him in the predicament to begin with.

"_Indeed, I am."_

Elizabeth peeked around the pillar separating the kitchen and living room, taking in the sight of her three laughing friends with fond eyes. She didn't want to leave them, but if Ric was locked out… "Okay, well, just hold tight, I'll be right over."

"_No!" he said suddenly and a little too loudly. "I mean, there's no need. You're helping Emily and spending time with your friends, I don't want to interrupt that."_

"Ric, don't be silly, you're locked out. I'm not just going to leave you—"

"_Why don't I just swing by Emily's place and pick up your set. Besides, it would be nice to see Emily. She's your best friend; I should make more of an effort to get to know her… and the rest of your friends, too."_

"Well…" Elizabeth worried at her bottom lip again, watching as Lucky and Nikolas moved that godforsaken couch again for Emily. This was supposed to be a Four Musketeers night. Ric could end up making things awkward. But then again, he was her husband and these were her friends. She didn't want there to be such a separation between people that meant so much to her. Having him drop by could be just the push toward bonding that they all needed. Brightening slightly, Elizabeth went on, "Okay, there's a gated entry to the building so I'll just wait down there to let you in."

"_No," he said all too suddenly again. "T-the traffic… its, um… it's just awful so I'll probably be awhile. Why don't you just give me the code and I'll let myself in. That way you can relax with Emily and the others until I get there."_

For a moment, a brief, ridiculous moment, Elizabeth considered whether or not she should give her husband Emily's security code. But then she mentally shook her misgivings away. This was her _husband_… why on earth should she be hesitant about giving him the code? Absolutely no reason she could think of.

**-----**

Ric ended his call to Elizabeth, looking up to meet the approval in Miguel's eyes. "Happy?"

Tucking the slip of paper he'd written the security code on into his jacket pocket, Miguel smiled broadly, cruelly. "Ecstatic."

Disgust suddenly rose up in Ric's throat, the unmistakable taste of bile creeping into his mouth. He'd really done it. He'd just thrown Emily Quartermaine, his wife's dearest friend, to the wolves, and just any wolf, but the one right in front of him. The thought made Ric's blood run cold. Lorenzo may have been ruthless, but Miguel was something different, something far more sinister. Something about the man exuded a carefully cloaked evil, a darkness that dwelled behind deceptively bright amber eyes. This man was a killer, and he enjoyed his job beyond measure.

And as Miguel exited his home with purpose to his steps, Ric felt like emptying the contents of his stomach right then and there. He'd just left an innocent girl at the mercy of a cold-blooded murderer, to do with as he pleased.

Ric had not only crossed the line between justice and '_vengeance at any cost'_, he'd just erased it completely.

But as sick as the idea made him, Ric still had one last part of the bargain to hold up: Helping to clear the murderer's path.

**-----**

"I don't get it," said Elizabeth vacantly, staring at the cell phone in her hands, her face bunched in stark confusion.

"It's not that hard, really, just punch in the number and press send." Emily flashed a cheeky grin as she strode into the kitchen and to the refrigerator behind Elizabeth.

Liz rolled her eyes. "Smartass," she growled back to her friend as Emily hoisted herself up onto the granite countertop, soda in hand. "I'm talking about Ric."

"What happened?" asked Emily, popping the top on her bottle.

Elizabeth's frown deepened and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the island's cold surface. "He called not twenty minutes ago and said he misplaced his house keys and that he needed my set to get inside. I offered to go drive them to him, but he put up a fuss and said he wanted to come here, that he wanted to make an effort to get to know everyone, you especially."

Emily smiled, "I'm flattered."

"Yeah, well, I wanted him to come over, too. I even told him how to get in and then he calls me back just now and says that maybe I had the better idea, that I should come home and let him in." She sighed deeply and chucked the cell phone onto the countertop rather roughly. "I don't get it, Em. Why would he change his mind like that?"

The sitting brunette shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he got cold feet. I mean, hanging out with all of us at once _and_ at _my_ apartment—which, by the way, is not the most neutral of territories given the relationship between him and Jason—I can see how that could get him a little flustered."

Elizabeth pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, her eyes still troubled. "I guess," she sighed. "But still, I just wish this wasn't such an impossible situation."

"I know, Liz. Just be patient," said Emily softly, jumping off the counter and coming to stand beside her friend. "There are a lot of hurdles to work through here. He won't be comfortable around us—me especially—for a long while, not with all the obvious ties I have to Jason… and Sonny."

Elizabeth snapped her eyes up, the brown orbs holding a small measure of warning. "Emily, I told you. He's over his vendetta. He wants peace with Sonny."

"And I'm not saying that isn't the case, Elizabeth," she said, sure to keep her voice even, not the least bit threatening. The last thing she wanted was to get into an argument with Liz over Sonny and Ric. "I'm just saying that old habits die hard sometimes. Ric may want peace and so might Sonny, but the instinct to hate and to be leery of one another will still be there for awhile. Something like that needs more than a few months time to heal itself, if it ever does at all. They may not be at each other's throats, but I don't see them becoming friends right away or trusting mutual acquaintances, either. Not even me. At least not right away."

Elizabeth nodded softly, knowing her friend was speaking the truth. Ric had spent so many years fixated on destroying Sonny, an obsession like that doesn't completely die out over night. It would take time, lots of time. But in the end it would be all right. It had to. She loved him too much for it not to be.

"So," started Emily, wanting to switch the subject to something a little lighter. "The guys are currently flipping through the DVD collection Dillon gave me as congratulations for 'fleeing the asylum'. What do you say we go intervene before we end up watching some horrible—?"

Emily's words were abruptly cut off by the sudden materialization of her bodyguard, his brown-haired head poking around the pillar that separated kitchen from living room. "Emily, can I have a word?"

"Um… sure, Johnny," she said, and then turned to Liz. "I'll be right back, okay?"

With Elizabeth's nod, Emily allowed the handsome guard to guide them through the rear of the kitchen into the small hallway that lead to the back bedrooms.

"What do you need?" She asked him, vaguely aware that he seemed a bit ruffled, a tad on edge.

"Your brother just called. He went to go see Alcazar but apparently he's left town."

She nodded slowly but it wasn't long before Emily felt a little lost. Why would he tell her this? "And what does this have to do with me exactly?"

Johnny's eyes narrowed on her. "Emily, we went over this, the guy made a deliberate move to speak with you. Do you really think something like that should go unhandled?"

Handled… God, that word sent a shiver up her spine. She detested that word and the connotations that went with it. "Depends what you mean by 'handled'," she snapped. "I mean, can't Jason just be satisfied that Alcazar _isn't_ in PC right now. Isn't that a _good_ thing?"

The guard huffed out an impatient breath, sweeping a hand through his disheveled brown hair. "Not necessarily. Sometimes absence doesn't always equal gone, sometimes it's just a prelude to something… bigger, a diversion of sorts." He watched as Emily's eyes narrowed in confusion. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he keep slipping at the mouth like that? Rule number… _whatever,_ of being a bodyguard: Don't run off at the mouth and scare the womenfolk. "Look," he said stiffly, subtly shaking himself back on track. "Jason wants more than just me guarding you now, but since none of the other guys are available tonight, he wants us to sort of… hunker down, until tomorrow."

Emily's brow tilted. "_Hunker down_?"

Johnny nodded. "He said that he's very sorry, but he wants everyone who's not you and me to clear out so that I can tighten down around here." He watched the frown lines form on her forehead. "Look, it's just for tonight, okay? Tomorrow another guard will be stationed outside to help and things will go back to normal."

"_Normal_." Emily scoffed and gestured to the gun holstered on the guard's hip, her hand then doing a vague sweep of the hallway. "Do you honestly think _any _of this is _normal_?"

He almost—almost—faltered then, softened, but the important thing was that he _didn't_. His conversation wish Jason had cemented his role in Emily's life. He would offer her protection, a blanket of defense against a clearly insane world, but beyond that, it was _Jason's_ job to coo and soothe, not his, no matter how he sympathized for the girl in front of him. No, no part of this girl's world was normal anymore and it was a tragedy, a grave one. But it was her _reality_ now, maybe even a permanent one, unfortunate as that may have been. He just hoped it wouldn't take her too long to realize that, because fighting against it was as useless as it was painful. And somebody almost always ended up hurt, usually you. _That_ was something he knew all too well.

Backing away from her, Johnny held her gaze a moment, a silent understanding hidden in his eyes, one a small part of him vainly hoped she wouldn't catch. It would feel too much like crossing a line, getting _too_ personal. "As normal as it's ever gonna get for us, Princess," he said quietly, wondering where in the hell that nickname came from and why we decided to use it all. Things didn't normally just slip out like that… _No. Get your ass back on track, O'Brien. Now._ Blinking away the monetary glitch in his professional facade, Johnny doled out the last of his orders, "Now please get rid of your friends so I can do a sweep of the apartment."

Trailing down the hall after Johnny, Emily reappeared in her living room to three concerned looking faces.

Nikolas was the first to rise to his feet, glancing furtively between Emily and her guard as he did so. "Is something wrong, Emily," he asked, apprehension laced delicately into every word. Something was off; he could sense it in her body language, though he would wager it more annoyance than fear or disquiet.

The young woman crossed her arms over her chest and let loose a disheartened sigh. "I'm afraid we have to cut this short," she said, taking special care to look at only Nikolas as she spoke. Him leaving was the part that upset her most of all. Everything had turned out so much _better_ than she thought it would when he showed up. They didn't fight once, not one below the belt barb or awkward moment. It had been easy. Like it used to be… before.

In the three seconds it took her to speak, Nikolas was in front of her, gauging her with worried eyes. "What happened," he asked, looking over her shoulder briefly at Johnny, who had come to stand a small distance behind her.

_Good question_, she thought. "Nothing earth shattering, Nikolas," she said soothingly, hoping to assuage his fears. "Things are just tense for Jason and Sonny right now and in turn… tense for me."

The prince tried hard to keep from baring his teeth. And Lucky thought _he_ was overbearing with Emily? Well, at least his life wasn't an imminent threat to her and didn't require her to tote around armed guards and cut herself off from her friends. As long as he lived, Nikolas didn't think he would ever understand her devotion to that man she called a brother, the devotion that allowed her to forgive him anything, even the endangering of her life. "I don't like this," he whispered finally, only to her, seeming to forget that the O'Brien, his brother, and Elizabeth were even still there. His mind was completely wrapped up in the delicate brunette before him.

Emily's eyes softened and if she had been more naïve, her heart would have skipped a beat at the intensity his gaze held. But she wasn't naïve, and she knew the concern staring back at her was brotherly, not romantic; something she feared she'd never stop being disappointed by. "It'll be okay," she said softly. "Just give my brother and Sonny some time, and then all this mess will be over and done with."

"They're the reason for this mess to begin with--"

"Nikolas," she said sharply. Friend or not, _more_ or not, it didn't matter. Jason was her _brother_, and that was with whom her loyalties lay, first and foremost. "My brother and Sonny will protect me, of that I have no doubt and neither should you."

His could see the warning flashing in her eyes and decided, in the interest of preserving at least a little of the easiness they'd just regained, to keep his mouth shut and do as she wanted. Nikolas nodded slowly and softened his stance. Still unaware of anyone but her—a fact he no doubt believed Lucky would rub in his face later on—Nikolas stepped closer to her and placed a gentle and completely chaste kiss on the flawless skin of her cheek. He wasn't sure what possessed him to do it; just that for some unexplainable reason he was met with a near crushing urge to be close to her right then, and a simple, _friendly_ kiss was the only way he could achieve that. As he slowly, reluctantly pulled back from her and the soft sweetness of her intoxicating scent she looked up at him and smiled warmly, and in a way only Emily could. The simple gesture sent a ripple of relief down his spine, and set loose heavy and unfamiliar warmth within his nearly fluttering heart. Nikolas bought a gentle hand to her face then and swept his thumb over the creamy skin. He was rewarded with another smile, one that reached the glittering depths of her dark eyes, eyes he knew he could easily drown in. _Things are definitely changing between us_, he thought, finally releasing his friend completely. _And maybe this time for the better._

When Nikolas moved away, Emily felt suddenly bereft, unfairly separated from the unexpected warmth his entirely wholesome gesture had settled upon her. Pinching perfectly manicured fingernails into her palm, Emily willed herself not to blush. She was not a giddy school girl with a crush anymore, she was grown woman who just received a peck on the cheek borne out of genuine concern and caring from a longtime friend. There was _nothing_ to get giddy about, _dammit._

She pinched a little harder as he smiled at her once again, full and indulgent, broad and magnetic. Her heart quivered in her chest.

Oh for heaven's sake, who was she trying to kid?

Nikolas Cassadine would forever be under her skin and she had never experienced something so _unfair_ in all her life. There was something more, something _different_ in his eyes now when he looked at her, but Emily refused to believe it. He was hers to crush on and obsess over, and she was his for comfort, friendship, and all things _sisterly_. It was the way of things between them, the way _he_ had wanted them all those years ago. What kind of fool would she be if she allowed herself to think the rules had suddenly changed?

The kind that ended up with a broken heart, that's what, and it was something Emily wanted no part of. She'd had enough of that to last her a lifetime.

After sharing another long, _dizzying _and horribly confusing look with Nikolas, giving a goodbye hug to Elizabeth, and being on the receiving end of a brotherly embrace from Lucky, Emily closed the door on her three best friends in the world, completely unaware of just how much time she was about to lose with them all.

**-----**

**TBC**…


	6. All The King's Men

**(a/n)** Yeah, things get a bit brutal toward the end. Be prepared, it's violent. –Loke

**Somewhere In Between**

**-----**

**Chapter Six: All The King's Men**

**-----**

_(Note: for the sake of flow, a few hours have elapsed in PC since the last chapter; it is now steadily approaching midnight.)_

"See ya, Max," called Jason over his shoulder to the guard who was calling it a night as he worked the lock on his penthouse door. Locking it again behind him, Jason looked around his living room, not really prepared for how vacant and cold it felt without Courtney there. Granted, the penthouse had always been just a place to hang his hat, but the day Courtney moved in with him it became a home, _their_ home, and without her… well, it seemed to slide right back into being just a place again. He didn't much like the feeling.

Discarding his gun to the top drawer of his desk, Jason then shrugged off his leather jacket and followed through on his routine, hanging it up in the front closet. As he did, he allowed his fingers to linger a moment on the faded denim of one of Courtney's coats. The Enforcer couldn't rightly help the smile that tugged at his lips; she may have been away, but she wasn't gone. There was too much of her in this place for her to ever be gone.

Shutting the closet, Jason wandered to the bank of windows across the living room and allowed his gaze to settle on the warm glow of Emily's brightly lit apartment just opposite him. He peered inside with cautious eyes, not wanting to play the part of the voyeur, but only wanting to make sure his sister was safe. When he manage to wrangle that particular unit for her, he was hesitant at first, wondering if having apartments adjacent to each other would be crossing the line into overbearing and controlling. But as quickly as the fear was realized, it was dismissed. Yes, Jason had faith in Emily and her independence, bounds of it. But moving out of the Quartermaine mansion was a big step; he just wanted to make sure all went well for her. And now, with this new looming threat, well, the idea made more sense than ever.

This allowed Jason to do for Emily what he couldn't do for Courtney: watch over her with his own two eyes.

**-----**

A reassuring click sounded lightly through the vacant living room, and Johnny checked the knob one last time just to be safe.

"Well, I think I'm just going to turn in." At Emily's voice Johnny turned around, noticing the girl had apparently showered and changed into her sleeping clothes, a silky flowered short robe drawn tightly around her lithe form. The image wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"I made up the back bedroom for you," she said, motioning behind her toward the hall. "You are staying, right?"

Johnny couldn't quite figure if it was disappointment or relief that flashed in her eyes when he nodded 'yes'. Did it matter? "It's apart of the job description," he told her, stepping down into the sunken living room's sitting area and leaning casually on the sofa's arm. "But the couch is a better idea, I think. Closer to the door and all."

Emily's eyebrows went up a bit and she made a face, one that seemed to ask "are you sure", to which Johnny only gave another small nod. Not even a second later, the brunette turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall, reemerging a few moments later with an armful of bedding.

"These should do, then, "she said, handing off the blankets and pillow. "If you need anything else, the closet is in the hall, right next to the back bathroom."

Again Johnny nodded, giving her a small smile of thanks before she began her trek back to her room. But before she could reach the hall and before he even knew what he was doing, Johnny heard his voice say her name.

The girl turned around, expectancy on her face.

For a moment, he wasn't even sure what it was he had wanted to say or why he felt the need to say it, but he doubted that would stop him, not with stellar impression of a runaway train his mouth had been doing lately. "Look," he started, cursing himself for even opening his trap to begin with. "I know this isn't easy for a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" she echoed, a chill rising in her otherwise gentle voice. "What does that mean?"

The guard reached behind his neck, rubbing at the back of his collar with an unsure hand. "You're independent, I get that. You don't like being told what to do or being dictated to, and I know this has gotta be killing you, having to be locked up like some--"

"_Princess_ in a tower?" She finished for him, putting emphasis on the nickname he had so boldly given her earlier that evening.

Johnny snapped his head up, relived but a little apprehensive to find a small, _amused_ smile gracing her features. "Yeah, about that…"

She waived a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it," she said lightly, "It's not the first time I've been called a princess. I'm sorta used to it."

"I didn't mean to offend you." He didn't want her to think he was being malicious, because he wasn't. The remark wasn't meant to cut her down, not in the least. He wasn't even sure what the intent had been at all.

"You didn't, Johnny," she said a little firmer this time. There was a quiet finality to her words that allowed Johnny to accept it as the truth. She was a lot like her brother in that respect.

A few moments of odd silence passed between them and just as Emily opened her mouth to no doubt voice her goodnight, Johnny beat her to the punch. "It suits you," he said softly, still looking at her intently.

Emily's brow furrowed lightly and once again Johnny cut her off before she could speak, puzzled yet again by his sudden lack of verbal control. "The nickname. Princess." he said, noticing how the girl shifted under his gaze. "It suits you."

She shook her head and lowered her eyes, her delicate fingers absently fiddling with the belt of her robe. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Johnny. I'm nowhere near being a princess."

Suddenly Johnny felt very foolish. _Okay, where in the name of all that is holy did this conversation come from? _Johnny didn't think he'd ever wanted to belt himself as badly as he did right then, watching as, yet again, his stupid mouth made Emily uncomfortable. She had her head bowed and everything, shrinking away from him like she wasn't worthy of the things he'd hinted at. It puzzled him. How could this girl possibly not know her own worth? Did she really not realize how important she was? "You are to you Jason," he said, suddenly feeling it his mission to set her strait, to make her see. The importance of it startled him a bit.

He heard her laugh then, small and self-deprecating. It stung his ears. "Yeah, more like a royal pain in the ass." She met his eyes for a moment but then glanced wildly around the apartment, a hand following the vague traces of her eyes. "Look around you, and then look at yourself, Johnny. This is all because I seem to draw trouble in; it always finds me even if I don't go looking for it. Take today for instance," she huffed quietly, averting her eyes again. "I didn't seek out Alcazar, but there he was, trying to…to… _hell_, I don't know what. So let's stop deluding ourselves with this '_you're a princess to Jason'_ crap, because it isn't true. On my good days I'm an unnecessary headache. I'm constantly getting into one mess after the other, and I give my brother more grief than not. Do you even realize how much less complicated his life would be if it weren't for me?"

Johnny gaped openly at her. How could she _ever_ think that? Sure, she had the little sister factor going for her, but let's just face it, Emily Quartermaine was royalty to Jason, plain and simple. The girl had seen her fair share of blunders and stints of _unbelievable_ bad luck, but none of that mattered to her brother. Even a simple employee like Johnny could clearly see the clout Emily possessed in Jason's life. He adored her and treasured her. That was the whole reason they were even having this conversation to begin with, because she was precious, worth being watched over. It wasn't exactly privileged information in PC.

Straitening his back to stand, Johnny fixed his eyes on the top of her bowed head, a soft earnestness to his words. He couldn't allow her to believe any of what she'd said. "Emily, your brother loves you very, _very_ much. You mean more to him than you think. A lot more. And if you can't recognize that… well, then I feel very sorry for you, because from where I'm standing it's more than a little hard to miss."

It was then that her eyes reached his again, the brown orbs pinning him to where he stood. A fierce regret ignited in his gut as Johnny watched her delicate features lax into smooth, impassive contemplation. The impossible resemblance she held to her brother at that moment threatened to halt his blood in his veins. He couldn't discern a single emotion on her face, and wondered blankly how a person's eyes could suddenly become so hallow, yet still be so charged.

She was studying him, going over his face with her eyes, seeking out his gaze in curious flickers that made him struggle to keep an even presence. But the deeper her eyes probed and the thicker the silence became, Johnny wondered if maybe he'd been mistaken. Maybe he was reading her—along with everything else—wrong, and she wasn't contemplating his _words_, but _him_ instead. Stunned silent by his audacity to even broach such a personal subject, form an opinion on it, and then daring to voice that opinion in such an abrupt manner. For the first time in years, Johnny found himself looking into the eyes of a woman and not having even a vague idea of what was going through her head. He should have disliked the feeling, but he couldn't bring himself to. Instead, a prickling fascination filled his mind. He could barely believe how much of an enigma this girl was. He knew not a single _detailed_ thing about her or her life but yet something in her eyes made the guard feel as if he'd known her forever. It was a disquieting feeling, heavy with unknowns—a thing he really didn't care much for—and Johnny looked away, settling instead for the tops of his shoes. He couldn't help but feel he'd just crossed a line, a very distinct line.

There was a brief silence that wasn't so much tense as it was baffling for the guard. He really didn't know what to make of her or it at all. For the first time in a long while, he had no idea where he stood, good or bad.

But then, mercifully, Emily sprang the quiet back to life. "Goodnight, Johnny," she said softly as she withdrew, "I'll see you in the morning."

He forced himself to meet her eyes again, and to stop being so ridiculous. He really had to get a grip here. He found that tumbling ball of regret in his gut stilled slightly when he noticed the impassive mask had cracked and faded from her face. Softly smiling eyes were reassuringly in place once more. "Absolutely," he nodded obediently, calling up the effort needed to flash a small, genuine smile her way.

When the girl smiled back just as warmly before walking off back toward the hall, Johnny felt a strange relief flood him, as if the temporary hitch in his world's order was set straight with those last few exchanged words, words that were routine and thankfully devoid of deeper value. The proper way of things had been restored. The anomaly had passed.

_This is how it should be, O'Brien, _he scolded himself, listening to the soft footfalls of her retreat_, light and impersonal, just like always. You can't afford anything else._

When he heard the faint click of her bedroom door, Johnny slumped down into the couch cushions in a heap. What the hell was that all about, and what in God's name was wrong with his mouth? Why could he not control his words around this girl? Why did he suddenly care so much about how she perceived herself? And how had she managed to make him second guess himself so completely when faced with her emotionless stare for just a few scant moments?

Maybe it was just the pressure of it all, the drama with Mrs. C, his own lapse in judgment, believing his number was finally up for half a day. Maybe it was that burned innocence shinning in her eyes, the fact that she was who she was. Her gentleness, her harshness, her smile, her frown…

Maybe it was any of those things that had caused his slip. Maybe it was all of them. Maybe he was going insane.

Somehow, the latter seemed far more feasible.

But the guard quickly reminded himself that cracking up wasn't a viable alternative here; he had a job to do. Protecting her was that job, not making friends with her, not caring. He was there to safeguard his boss's _only_ sister, not to become… attachedwhatever that meant.

Clenching his eyes closed in self-disgust, Johnny shed his jacket and loosened his tie, settling into the couch cushions with a ready hand rested on his unholstered gun.

For Christ's sake, it hadn't even been a full twenty four hours. How was he supposed to survive an extended tenure as her guard if things continued on like this?

Sighing, Johnny pushed his head deeper into the pillow. He needed to get a hold of himself here, and stop letting this girl get to him or he really was gonna lose it, and maybe not just his mind.

**-----**

_(Note: again, some more time has passed, a little over an hour this time.)_

Freshly popped Bud Light in hand, Jason leaned into the window frame again, continuing to watch over his sister's now darkened apartment. Part of Jason felt he was overreacting to the added threat of Alcazar; a thing never liked being accused of. But on the flip side, this was Emily. Little Emily, the sister he'd never get used to viewing as an adult.

Till the day he died, when he thought of Emily, the first image he'd conjure would be of a little, doe-eyed, brown-haired girl, standing in the door of his hospital room, carrying a bouquet of flowers. It was that image, and one of a paralyzed Emily propped up in her own hospital bed thousands of miles from home, wearing a broken smile and greeting him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen, that prevented Jason from ever—_ever—_taking her safety for granted again. He'd been careless then, too wrapped up in his own life to be there when she needed him most, and Jason hated himself for it. He never wanted to see his baby sister's eyes look that beaten ever again, not as long he lived.

Sighing, Jason took a long sip from his bottle and let the liquid warm a trail down his throat, not quite ready to abandon his vigil over the girl that lay sleeping across the way. He couldn't be Courtney's watchdog tonight, but he could sure as hell be that for Emily, overreacting or not.

**-----**

_5.2.5.6.9. _

Miguel's gloved fingers skated over the electronic keypad of Brighton Terrace's security gate, entering the code swiftly. Sparing readying glances at his flanking henchmen, Miguel stood stock still as his darkly clad men moved forward through the wrought iron gate and past the entrance's glass doors, drifting stealthily through the building's vacant lobby in a neat pack of five.

Once he saw them disappear into the elevator, Miguel turned on his heel and crossed to the unmarked black van parked across the street. And as he crept inside the driver's side, if one were to look closely enough at the menacing man, they would have seen the tiniest of smiles shading his cloaked features.

Taking what you wanted felt wonderful.

**-----**

Silence hung eerie and thick over the darkened penthouse. Emily lay in her oversized bed curled up on her side, still clad only in her short robe and nightgown, lost in simple but troubled sleep. Her angelic features twitched ever so often, tightening the young woman's brow in a worried frown. And her delicate hands clutched greedily at the simple white pillow she held tight to her sleeping body. It may not have been idyllic, but Emily Quartermaine was out like a light, and none the wiser.

**-----**

Pedro, being appointed leader of the gang, stepped off the elevator first, quickly followed by two guards on either side of his brawny form. His jumpy, snake-like eyes slid over the walls, and quickly scanned the numbers adorning every unit door until he finally came to a stop at the end of the lengthy hall.

'_PH6'_ gleamed in polished brass numbers above the henchman's head as he reached into his jacket pocket and came up with a small black canvass case. Kneeling down before the door, Pedro wasted no time going to work on the lock.

**-----**

Johnny, having succumbed to the stress of the day rather quickly, had drifted as well. Down the hall from his sleeping charge, the bodyguard lay awkwardly on Emily's plush plum colored sofa, a pillow half under his head, a blanket midway between his lap and the hardwood floor, and his hand still curled loosely around the grips of his firearm. His dress shirt-covered chest rose and fell in deep, rhythmic bursts. And the guard seemed to be emitting a low, rumbling sound in time with his steady breaths.

It wasn't too loud.

But it was loud enough.

The quiet rumbling proved just enough to mask the nearly inaudible '_click'_ that came from the direction of Emily's front door.

As well as the careful footsteps that followed.

What did manage to rouse the bodyguard, though, was his face being suddenly bathed in blinding white light.

He batted his eyelids against the intrusion, blinking away sleep and the fuzziness that went with it. _What the… flashlights? _He tried to look away but soon found the light encircled him perfectly; it was directed at him from every side. It was then that realization settled in.

Panic wasn't far behind.

Pointed at his prone form were an undeterminable number of flashlight beams, wielded by the same quantity of thus far completely silent and faceless intruders.

The bodyguard was by no means dense and he put the picture together with expert clarity. There were men, undoubtedly _assailants_ in the apartment. And there was only one reason why they would be there…

Johnny's frantic mind unexpectedly conjured up an imagined image of a sleeping Emily down the hall, tucked safely in her bed. He couldn't let them get to her. He promised Jason and he promised himself. Damn the numbers and damn the consequences, the only way these men were leaving with Emily Quartermaine was if they killed him first.

With lightening quick reflexes, Johnny slid his finger over the ready trigger and clamored to his feet, leveling his gun at the encompassing light in one swift movement. He swiveled in place over and over as he strained to focus on a single target through the haze of white light which engulfed him. But it was useless; the flashlight beams were coming at him from every angle, effectively swallowing up anything and everything that could be used to his advantage.

But as the guard would soon find out, not being able to see was the very least of his problems. Above his erratic breaths, Johnny heard the distinct, metallic sound of a gun's hammer being cocked back—several of them.

_Oh, shit._

**----- **

What happened then came so quickly that, later on, Jason would be surprised he had remembered any of it clearly.

The bottle dropped. His beer, he remembered it falling from his grasp and shattering at his feet as his eyes grew large with disbelief.

Across the way, in his sister's new home, four—no five, beams of light penetrated the dark at once, scanning the shadowy penthouse wildly before zeroing in on a single spot. A moment later, a figure rose up within the circle of light, fighting desperately to train a weapon on something solid amidst the glare.

It was Johnny. And he was outnumbered.

Jason's feet felt leaden as he watched in awed silence. His breathing came to him in short, sporadic bursts and his heart thundered within his chest.

It was happening. Jason's worst fear was being realized.

They, whoever they were, were coming for Emily. And their first step was disarming her bodyguard.

At that moment, the moment when fear became reality and reality morphed seamlessly into unimaginable horror, Jason's world was plunged into warp speed. He stumbled backward and broke into a run, stopping only to retrieve his handgun from the desk before flying out his door with such force it was nearly ripped from its hinges.

_Sonny._ The thought tore through Jason's mind. Five beams of light and just him, no Max… no Johnny. Jason suppressed a cringe. He needed backup. He needed Sonny.

Jason never once stopped as he frantically forced his way into Sonny's penthouse, relieved to see his friend still up, and getting familiar with a glass of rum.

Startled and wide eyed, Sonny bolted up from his chair, tumbler in hand. "Jason, what the hell…?"

"No time," breathed Jason harshly, suddenly brandishing his weapon to further illustrate the moment's urgency. "We have to go now, someone's in Emily's apartment!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jason…calm down a second." Sonny moved closer to the open door that framed his friend's heaving form, not really comprehending what Jason was saying. _Emily was being guarded; this had to be a mistake… _"What about Johnny?"

Jason only let a beat pass before giving an answer that chilled him to the bone. He only hoped it wasn't true. "He may already be dead, and if we don't move our asses right this second… my sister could be next."

At those words Sonny's face went ashen. _Oh, God._ He sprang to life and clamored to his own desk, worked the lock on a bottom drawer and came up with his gun.

Tucking it into the waistband of his pants, Sonny wordlessly fell in step behind Jason, both men moving as fast as their feet could carry them, both hoping that they weren't already too late.

**-----**

"Drop it, now." The voice was cold and accented_. Mexican… no… probably more like South American_, Johnny noted. Because South American equaled Alcazar.

Well, this kept getting worse by the second.

And as he felt a sharp jab to his back with what he assumed was the point of a gun, Johnny reckoned that things weren't going to start looking up any time soon.

"I said drop the gun," spat the voice, an unsettling climb to his tone. "We wouldn't want this to get messy now, would we?"

With gritted teeth, Johnny refused to comply. These bastards would have to pry this piece from his cold, dead hands if they wanted it. Any if it came to that, Johnny had every intention of taking a few of them with him. Anything to give Emily a fighting chance. "Screw you, asshole," Johnny hissed, pivoting toward the voice. It sounded like it was coming from—

Two muffled bangs sounded out and Johnny swallowed and then blinked, rapidly, breath hitching in his throat. Thankfully, a cold numbness pulsed through his body and, for one glorious moment, Johnny believed he was in the clear. But the relief was short–lived as not even a split second later, after a stretch of horrible, stomach-churning stillness; a searing pain erupted in Johnny's left side and again in his lower back, and fiery shock waves blazed through the areas at the speed of light. His eyelids dropped shut of their own volition and before his knew it; his legs had betrayed him, allowing his knees to meet the floor in a startling crack of bone on wood. The rest of Johnny's body wasn't far behind, and within seconds, the bodyguard was laid out awkwardly on the floor.

Johnny felt the gun being torn form his grasp and through his haze he tried to hold onto it, but the sensation building in his body refused his fingers—or much of anything—the luxury of working properly. His hands clenched reflexively into fists, knuckles going white from the pressure and fingernails carving bloody crescents into his palms. Stabs of white hot fire twisted his form as he strived for relief. But the movement had the opposite effect, and he winced away from himself again, a sickening pattern slowly emerging as he fought desperately to deaden the suddenly explosive pain.

He was shot; a past experience excluded all other possibilities. And by the lack of sound the gunshots produced, Johnny figured at least one of the men was packing a silencer. A silencer meant no noise, and no noise meant that no one was coming to help them.

_Son of a bitch…_

The burning in his side and back coupled with the piercing flashlight beams trained on his face weren't making it any easier to think, but still the guard forced himself to stay lucid. While everything in him wanted to get to his feet and get to Emily, he knew he had to survey the damage to his body first. _How bad was it?_ The answer to that question could be the difference between finding a way to get to Emily to save her, and simply bleeding out right there on the hardwood floor, ending it for them both. If he still had workable time at his disposal he could stall them, keep them from getting to her, and if not… well, then he'd just have to do what he could while he could…Kamikaze style. He only hoped with every stray thought he could manage, that whoever got the shot off had only nicked him, even if the intense pain he was experiencing told him otherwise. Hoping against hope and taking a shallow breath—the only type he could manage at the moment—Johnny forced himself to be still. Slowly, he reached around and felt for the source of his discomfort. His shaky fingers slid over the covered surface of his side, instantly meeting with something warm and wet. Liquid; sticky, thick and disturbingly abundant seeped between his fingers, and he cringed at the feeling, fighting back the taste of bile that crept into his mouth.

A strangled noise rose in his throat and Johnny's eyes clenched tighter at the sharp pain the contact elicited, as well as the now unavoidable truth. These bastards were here for Emily, he had been shot – twice, disarmed, burning pain was making moving more and more impossible with every second that passed, _and_ he was losing blood at an alarming rate.

Unless Jesus himself came strutting through that door right then, with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder, both he and Emily were screwed. Royally.

Through his gasps for breath and the inferno rising in his side, Johnny managed to register a sudden movement around him, a shift in the blackness.

"Toss it, every inch" said a voice, _the_ voice, in a hushed whisper, sending various pairs of footfalls scattering. "This place is huge. She may have heard us and could be hiding."

Eyelids slipping closed again, Johnny could only pray that they were right.

-----

She felt the bed shift.

That was the only thing her mind could register before a gloved hand slipped over her mouth and a heavy weight saddled her body, crushing her into the mattress.

Her eyes went big and panic like she'd never felt assaulted her mind. _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God… _

Her mantra of fear-stricken disbelief subsided only when a sickening voice whispered in her ear, warm, unnerving breath beating against the skin of her face. "Don't make me hurt you," said the voice, a heavy accent dripping from every syllable.

A dry sob caught in her mouth and Emily screamed into his hand. Her reward was a matching hand being clasped viciously around her neck, squeezing just hard enough to make breathing very, very difficult.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," growled the voice. "I don't like having to disobey orders."

'_Disobey orders', what the hell does that mean?_ She tried to piece it together, but to be fair thinking clearly wasn't really all that easy at the moment. She settled instead for tried and true reactive impulse.

Both of the man's hands were focused on her head area, and that left her arms free. Pushing up suddenly with force she didn't think she possessed, Emily rammed the heel of her palm into her assailant's masked face. He cried out gruffly and fell back onto the disheveled bed, clutching his nose with both hands.

Emily jumped at the window of opportunity and scrambled to untangle herself from him so she could get to the door. She was almost free, almost at the edge of the bed when a furious grunt sounded out behind her, just as a hand grasped at her mouth for a second time, another cruelly burying itself in the roots of her hair. She yelled in pain, but the sound was muffled again, drowned out by the leather of his gloves.

"The boss warned us you may be a handful," said the man, strangely amused. "Good thing we came prepared."

Tears painted silent tracks down her cheeks and onto her attacker's gloved hands, as realization settled in with heartbreaking intensity. Something very, _very_ bad was going to happen to her and she didn't have the power to stop it. All that talk about begin able to handle herself; about being fine on her own, and when it really counted she was reduced to being just another feeble girl shivering in fear, unable to prevent the unthinkable. The helplessness she felt fueled a sudden spike of anger in her body, forcing another wave of vain struggles against her captor as he removed the hand from her hair and fumbled for something in the dark. Defeat shattered around her once more when her efforts were rewarded with a cruel laugh.

"Save your strength, angel," whispered the voice in a way that made her cringe in disgust. "We have quite a trip ahead of us."

With that Emily felt the man take away his hand from her mouth. She moved to scream for Johnny—if he was even still alive to hear her—but again her efforts failed as a sweet smelling cloth was instantly clamped over her mouth and nose. She knew that smell. _Chloroform…_

Terror leaped to the fore again. If she didn't get away _right now_, she wouldn't be able to at all. In a few moments there would be no escape for her, no way out…

Violently, she struggled against his hold, yet again, and tried hard not to breathe in the sickening aroma. But soon, no matter how desperately she fought, Emily felt her heartbeat slow to a crawl as her world was gradually wrapped in a debilitating darkness.

-----

The movement from earlier got closer, and a pair of black boots entered Johnny's muddied vision. He had no idea how much blood he was losing, but he could feel a powerful chill creeping through his body, while the floor beneath him was warming slightly. And his vision was starting to get very spotty. All not good signs.

The boots were joined by the bottom half of a squatting figure, a gun dangling from its gloved hand. "Where is she, hmm?" asked the man, squashing Johnny's broken attempt to get to his feet with one hand. "Ah, ah, ah…" chided the man, brining the tip of his gun's barrel to rest upon the wound at Johnny's side. "You could hurt yourself."

Another jolt of pain sliced through Johnny's side as the gun's tip pressed into the seeping wound. _Holy shit that hurts!_ He tried not to recoil at the pain but it was useless, the contact was too much. Johnny gasped.

"See, it's already been nearly five minutes and, in case you haven't noticed, this place is ridiculously large. In fact, it kind of puts us at a bit of a disadvantage. See, if little Miss Quartermaine is hiding somewhere, then finding her could take up an unfortunate portion of my evening, and I do so _hate_ wasting my time. Now, why don't you be a good little boy and help along the process so we can be on our merry way," breathed Pedro, bringing his head closer to Johnny's, something clearly evil glinting in his serpent eyes. "Tell me where she is and I won't make that unfortunate throbbing in your side increase, tenfold."

"_Go to hell."_ Those three words were the last that Johnny managed to force past his lips before he felt the full weight of Pedro's threat being carried out. The bodyguard screamed out and frantically tried to knock away Pedro's weapon. Johnny's movements were futile, and he was stilled by a pair of brutal hands clamping around his wrists, holding him down, side exposed and vulnerable. This _so_ wasn't good. But—if anything—it bought her just a little more time. To do what, Johnny hadn't a clue.

"See, this is why I _hate_ Americans, Rico" drawled Pedro, smiling cruelly at the man restraining Johnny as he applied even more pressure. Pedro's smile only widened at the strangled cry his torment ripped from the guard's constricting throat. Johnny's once white dress shirt was now dyed a morbid crimson; soaked nearly through and through. And his chest moved in shallow, uneven heaves, a slight tremble evident in his straining limbs. His face was pallid now; the dark red smudges of slowly drying blood the only color anywhere on his face. "They are insolent, rude, and they never learn."

After giving a hateful laugh, Pedro then removed his blinders from Johnny's vision, clicking off the flashlight and tossing it to a man behind him. "No need for that," he said darkly. "I think I've got you sufficiently incapacitated, don't you?" When Johnny's only answer was a gurgling breath, Pedro's face bunched in a disapproving frown. He jabbed his gun forward again, viciously. The move was rewarded by a weak, agonized moan. "You should really answer when people speak to you. Nobody likes a bad conversationalist."

Johnny pried his tightened lips apart to say something when someone else's voice claimed the silence. "I found her, Pedro" yelled out a male voice in hurried Spanish, causing the head of Johnny's tormentor to snap up. _They found her…_ Johnny's whole body shuddered in panic, and the bottom went out of his stomach.

_Oh, God, no…_

But there was no use praying any longer. There, beyond Pedro's shoulder, a darkly clad man held a limp Emily in his arms. "Emily!" Johnny's rasping voice struck the air. The weakness of if sickened him. "Emily, can you here me!" he yelled with every last ounce of energy he could muster. "EMILY! Emily, _please_…" Vicious hands gripped his arms roughly, jerking him backwards and Johnny's head fell limply forward from the force of it. Coughing wetly, the air left him in an exhausted huff and his vision began to blur at the edges. This was just too much. He was fading fast and he knew it. He could barely move a thing, how in the hell was he supposed to save her? Johnny's eyelids grew heavier and he strained to keep them open. This just _couldn't_ be happening…

The man carrying Emily glared daggers at Johnny and shifted her drooping form in his arms. "We must go," said the man, "_now_, before she wakes up."

Johnny's gut clenched violently. _No, they couldn't leave! They couldn't take her! _He struggled to get to her, twisted himself violently against his holds but it was all to no avail. The bodyguard's world was slowly dimming… hope being steadily extinguished as the light began to leave him.

Giving a rough nod, Pedro drew himself up and retrained his murderous gaze on Johnny's haggard body. The girl's bodyguard seemed to be straddling that thin line between lucidity and oblivion. He wouldn't be a problem now. Pedro motioned for him to be released.

"I guess we didn't need your help after all," drawled Pedro, coldly. "Thank you for your hospitality. Sorry we can't stay, but you know how it goes. Business first." With that Pedro gave a pitiless smile and made a point of delivering a brutal kick to Johnny's side before letting loose a sharp whistle, and taking his leave of Emily's apartment, vile pack in tow.

All Johnny could do was watch, bent double, rendered useless by the intolerable pain attacking his body, and trying to fend off the haze invading his consciousness, as a totally helpless Emily was carried away from him and into the night.

**-----**

Jason and Sonny skidded to a raspy halt in the street outside Emily's building, the scene meeting their eyes seemingly unbelievable.

Emily, limp and unconscious, was being hastily loaded into a black van not twenty feet from where they stood, by a pack of darkly dressed men. A volatile mixture of anger, fear, and murderous intent rattled through Jason's body like liquid lightening. He sprang forward, eyes blazing, gun leveled dangerously. Sonny matched him stride for stride.

"Put her down!" he yelled and Sonny couldn't rightly remember ever hearing Jason's voice sound quite like that before. Quite so desperate, or quite so deadly.

All heads swiveled toward the armed duo, actions frozen in place. Emily was only halfway in the van.

Jason stepped to the stilled picture, but then, as if someone had hit fast forward, the scene shifted, the players converging rapidly. Emily was taken roughly into the van by one of the men, leaving the remainder of the group outside to face them menacingly. Jason suddenly found him in Sonny in the midst of a standoff, four guns to their two. He didn't much like the odds.

"Give me my sister." Every word was a struggle, quaking with barely contained rage. He knew the order was a long shot, but he didn't know what else to do. "Hand her over or I start shooting."

A laugh struck the air then, hollow and malignant, followed by the sudden gunning of an engine. Quickly the group began to pile into the van's side door one by one; Jason watched this with widened, frantic eyes. Another few moments and Emily would be gone. He had to do something, outnumbered or not.

It was do or die time.

Sparing only a side-glance at Sonny, Jason leapt forward.

A split second later, the tranquil, early morning air of Port Charles was shattered by an explosion of rapid gunfire, and a thick, gravely cry.

"JASON, NO!"

**----- **

**TBC**…


	7. As You Were

**Somewhere In Between**

**-----**

**Chapter Seven: As You Were**

**-----**

Sonny hadn't felt this old in a very, very long time. Every muscle in his body ached, his head felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through it, and he hadn't slept a wink now in nearly thirty-six hours. Suffice it to say, Sonny Corinthos felt like shit, and he wasn't even the one in surgery. Hell, he wasn't even hurt this time around.

A slim, elegant hand, brushed against his shoulder blades and Sonny leaned into the touch, drawing any comfort he could from it.

"You should try to get some rest, Sonny," said the voice.

The gentleness of those words dragged a small, sad, smile from his lips, and Sonny looked up, right into the eyes of his adoring wife. He shook his head in protest, taking a long moment to study the love, the concern, and the worry etched across her features. God, he loved this woman.

Carly tilted her head to the side and frowned. "You can't stay here all night," she said softly, sweeping the cold, uninviting ER waiting area with somber eyes. She had only just gotten there a couple of hours ago--her, Courtney, and Michael having come straight home at the news. But her husband was quite a different story. He hadn't left this waiting area since he arrived, trailing after the remnants of his broken army.

"I'm not leaving, Carly," he said, voice cracking from under use. "Not until they wake up."

Her chest tightened roughly and Carly felt the now familiar tears well up in her eyes again. There were no words for what she, what Sonny, what Courtney…what _anyone_ was feeling now. No way to describe just how awful things had become in the space of a few precious hours.

Emily was gone. Jason was shot, in surgery removing the bullet from his shoulder. And Johnny was in surgery too, only she assumed the bodyguard was faring much, much worse.

According to Sonny, when they finally got to Johnny, he'd all but bled out. Blood had been everywhere, and in the frantic rush to save him, Sonny had come away with his clothes and skin marred by the ghastly red. Inwardly, Carly cringed. She didn't need or want the details. She just wanted for _both_ of them to be okay and for Emily to be home, where she belonged. Only, Carly didn't know if half those things were going to happen at all. But the one thing she hated was waiting to find out if fate would smile upon them or not, sitting there with nothing to do but dwell, but stew. She despised it and she knew Sonny did too. The feeling of uselessness was clawing at her insides.

"Sonny," she pushed in a near whisper. "Sonny, if you're not going to rest… well… well, then we can't just _sit here_." Carly was pleading now, with quiet desperation. Her eyes were tired and red-rimmed from crying. "We have to try and find her, stop them from getting--"

"It's been hours, Carly." He tiredly laced his still crimson-tinged fingers together at his nape. Fleetingly he wondered just how long it would take for that tint to leave his hands, if it ever really would. "They're already gone. I have Myer running a track on them, checking for paper trails, searching for any vehicle rental records, flight plans that may have been filed…." Sonny's voice dipped off at the sheer magnitude of their search. Even though Emily's taking was very clearly a strike against him and his organization, he still had no clue as to who was behind it. In his history as Boss, Sonny had managed to amass quite the impressive list of enemies, Lorenzo Alcazar and Ric of course being two of the most recent. But even that knowledge wouldn't be enough to excuse him, and the rest of his troops, the grueling task of going person to person, trying to root out the offender. That was, until they stepped forward of their own accord. After all, the people who took Emily wanted something from him, Sonny was sure of it. All that was left now was a waiting game, hopelessly broken up by what could prove to be fruitless digging. Sonny couldn't shake the feeling that, even when Jason and Johnny could tell him more—such as who was behind it, the elapsed hours since the kidnapping would find them at a formidable stalemate, until someone decided to show their hand.

Sonny only hoped the second half of the kidnapper's plans progressed in a timely fashion. He wasn't sure how long he'd last without some kind of reassurance of her safety to offer Jason.

If possible, Carly felt her heart sink even further. She didn't much care for the Quartermaines, actually loathed the lot of them –save Lila and Emily- quite thoroughly, but having one child almost mortally wounded, and another snatched up in the dead of night and taken away? That was something not even Carly would wish on them, on anyone. And getting her back…? She shook her head solemnly. Negativity wouldn't do anyone any good right now. She had to believe, for Jason and even for herself a little, that Emily would be okay. She had to have faith in her husband and in the patterns of his business.

That's right; Carly was no fool of a mob wife who sheltered herself from the truth. She knew this was about one of two things: leverage over Sonny or revenge against him. The men behind this had only decided to swap out the players a bit.

An Emily in place of a Carly.

A new resolve rippled through her at the thought. Emily was gone. _Gone_. Because of them, because of her connection to _them_. They had to do something. Jason couldn't be the one here to push now, what kind of friend would she be if she didn't forge ahead in his absence, didn't at least _try_ to find his sister for him?

"Then you need to be out there too," said Carly, her lips set in a thin line. "I know you want to be here when Jason wakes up but we have to prioritize, Sonny. Jason will be _okay_, Monica said as much. You need to shift your focus now. You need to find her for him, Sonny. He would do it for you."

Sonny stared at her, absorbing her words, knowing she was speaking the absolute truth. If Carly had been taken three days ago, Jason would have been the first one out there, torching the world--ruthless enemy by ruthless enemy, until her found her. Jason was loyal beyond reason and never failed to protect what Sonny held dear with rabid and –at times- violent ferocity.

Sonny owed Jason for that never wavering devotion, and now it was time to pay. Sonny crept to his feet. "You'll stay with Courtney?" he asked his wife, watching gratitude quietly bloom in her eyes.

Carly nodded and grasped his hand tightly, letting him pull her up and to her feet. "Of course," she said softly. "I'll head up now."

**-----**

Her world was shadows. Thick and murky, a fog covered everything. Her limbs felt awkward, hollow and leaden, stiff and rubbery all at the same time. She couldn't move anything, save her eyelids. And even those fluttered slowly, as if weighed, opening and then closing again to where even the faint shadows and outlines faded out into black.

Inside her mind was a jumbled, frantic mess of half-remembered things and details that were hazier still.

_Apartment.__Bed. Sleeping…_

A jolt of images flickered against her closed eyelids: A face, masked by something dark and woolen and thick. Struggling. Arms and hands pushing, shoving, hitting at something solid and unyielding. A scream, drowned out and muffled by something soft held viciously to her mouth.

A grunt of frustration squeaked past her lips and her brow twisted. She wanted to remember. She needed to remember…

'_Save your strength, angel.'_

The voice echoed through her mind and Emily squinted against the memory. The words were so cold, so darkly unsettling that it made her stomach bunch reactively. _The penthouse… I was sleeping and then…_

'_Don't make me hurt you.'_

Slowly the scene came back to her, the blanket smothering her thoughts being dragged back gradually. She remembered the hand over her mouth, the weight over her body, the gruff, disturbing voice, the struggle, the cold laughing, the cloth over her face, the sickly sweet smell invading her nose and mouth, darkness slowly encroaching on her…

Suddenly aware, even if still mostly under the chloroform's influence, Emily forced her eyes open, made herself take in her surroundings. She had to get her bearings and figure this out. Bogged down by her haze, her eyes still traced the space around her, searching…

She was in a room on a bed. Her bed? No. That couldn't be. Her bed was smaller than this, her bedroom was white, and here everything was clay-like reddish-brown, terracotta. There were exotic palms in huge stony pots; wrought iron scrolls on the lavishly windowed walls, paintings, rugs, old and ornate, hung everywhere. The room was spinning and _huge_.

Huge and completely unlike any place she'd ever been in.

_Where was she?_

But, more importantly, where was everyone else?

**-----**

"Rest assured, Mrs. Quartermaine, the PCPD is doing everything in our power to find your daughter and to have her returned to you." Police Commissioner Mac Scorpio gave the mournful pair of Alan and Monica Quartermaine a soft nod and then turned on his heel and exited the hospital lobby through one of the elevators.

Sonny imagined that, by the horribly distraught looks on both Monica and Alan's faces, Mac's attempt at appeasement meant very little. People could say all they wanted, make all the promises in the world. None of that would bring Emily home.

No, that was on _his_ shoulders. That mission was his cross to bear, and he wouldn't rest until it was completed.

Sonny looked away from the stricken parents with something akin to fear coming over him. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to even speak to them when both had to be aware that all this was his fault, an offshoot of his treacherous life?

Would Alan threaten, Monica shrill and curse him… Edward bellow? Well, that was a given, he supposed. Edward bellowed even when his "favorite granddaughter" wasn't suddenly kidnapped. Sonny's hand found its way into his mussed hair, raking over closed eyes and his unshaven face. Everything just seemed so beyond repair now; he honestly didn't know what to do, or how to go about doing it. Sonny Corinthos wasn't a man accustomed to feeling lost.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Sonny's private reverie was broken by a softly accented voice and he turned to find Lila Quartermaine looking up at him from the confines of her wheelchair, with a sorrowful expression on her face. Sonny sighed. This woman truly was a living saint, giving him consideration even when he clearly didn't deserve it. "I-I'm fine, Mrs. Quartermaine," he said with a weak smile. "You don't need to worry about me." Sonny began to move behind her chair with the intent of guiding her back to her family. "Here, let me help you back over to--"

"Lila!" Sonny clenched his eyes closed at the sharp interruption. _Here comes the bellow._ "Corinthos keep your distance from my wife," growled the old man, eyes set in a furious blaze. "What are you doing here anyhow, haven't you done enough damage to our family for one evening?"

"Edward," said Lila sternly, frowning disapprovingly at the old oaf. "You aren't being fair; he's obviously just as affected by--"

Edward looked completely aghast as he glowered down at his wife. "Sonny Corinthos is a danger to society, Lila. He a common criminal and every bit of what has happened is a result of him! I can't believe that you would actually feel sorry for…"

Edward's volume was increasing at an alarming rate and Sonny felt the need to intervene before he became the center of another Quartermaine battle right in the middle of the GH lobby. "All right, Eddie, just calm down--"

The interrupted Quartermaine patriarch went red with anger. "CALM DOWN!"

Sonny tried again, arms raised in defense, casting a furtive glance over their thickening audience. "Look, I think that you should just--"

"I don't give a damn what you think! It's because of you that my granddaughter is God knows where, and that my grandson is in an operating room, as we speak, having a bullet taken out of him! You are nothing but a--"

"Edward!" Lila's command sliced through her husband's bellow rather effectively, but then Sonny imagined she'd had quite a bit of practice at it. "Stop your ridiculous ranting this instant, and leave Mr. Corinthos be. He was just passing through the lobby when I approached him, he hasn't _done_ anything…"

Sonny's head suddenly began to swim. This wasn't right. This was _glaringly_ off kilter, and he knew it. She shouldn't be defending him. She should be _condemning_ him, screeching and yelling, egging Eddie boy on until the old man was blue in the face.

It was what he _deserved_.

This _was_ his fault. His life had once again managed to ensnare an innocent, a young woman who was good and decent, and who also happened to mean more to his best friend than life itself. And it was because of that connection to him that she was gone. He couldn't let this go on or one more second. "Don't…" He interrupted Lilah, the welling guilt threatening to take his voice and instead succeeding only in breaking its even timbre for the first time in a very long while. "I'm…" His tongue's reluctance to form the words aggravated Sonny to no end. Pride shouldn't have been an option, pride shouldn't have matter right then.

But somehow it did.

A simple 'I'm sorry' felt just as wrong as allowing Lila to paint him as a victim. It didn't feel nearly good enough, substantial enough to fill that void, not that anything but Emily could ever fill it properly. But until that day came, Sonny thought maybe he knew of one thing he could do. He just hoped they understood that this… _gesture_ wouldn't be like the ones lavished upon them by the PCPD.

Sonny lowered his troubled eyes to Lila's and spoke as earnestly and as softly as he could. "I'll get her back," he said, looking between the unlikely pair solemnly, a certain fire burning in his dark eyes. "I promise that I will find who did this, and I will bring her home." The words came as only a bare whisper, but with a strength and determination trademark to Sonny Corinthos.

Not giving Edward the time to scoff, or Lila the opportunity to coo and soothe, Sonny turned and went for the elevator.

And as the elevator doors slid closed upon the dismal scene, another vow was made; only this one went straight to God's ears.

The promise he had just made to Lila and Edward would be different from the one Scorpio had made to her parents; it was one Sonny _knew_ he could make good on, and one he had every intention of seeing through.

_-----_

"I demand to know what's being done to find her!" The impassioned shout echoed loudly within the stark halls of the PCPD, and was met by a mixture of harsh glares and sympathetic, knowing glances. But neither made a difference. As far as Nikolas was concerned, every person who wouldn't help him find out what in the hell had happened to Emily, was against him. And being against a Cassadine was not a place anyone should seek to be. Maybe they all needed to be reminded of that.

"Fine," he rasped, nearly hoarse from the roaring he'd done just to push past those inane patrolmen out-front. "If you two incompetent excuses for law enforcement won't help me, then I'll find the Commissioner myself. And believe me; it won't bode well for either of you when I do."

Giving the still annoyingly silent detectives in front of him a murderous look, Nikolas shoved past them roughly and stalked down the hall in search of Mac Scorpio. Surely, Mac would tell him _something_. At this point, Nikolas would take anything. He had to know what was being done to find Emily; he had to be as close to this as humanly possible. His heart wouldn't allow him any other recourse. He had to get her back; he couldn't lose her now, not when they were so close…

Nikolas was nearly at Mac's office when a cold, derisive voice stopped him in his tracks. "Hate to break it to you, Cassadine, but the Commish is otherwise engaged at the moment. He's off attending to the poor girl's heartbroken family."

Scott Baldwin. Nikolas could almost hear the snaky bastard's rattle. He rounded slowly and met PC's District Attorney's gaze with deliberate irreverence. "Baldwin," came Nikolas' tight greeting.

Nikolas watched, a small ball of disgust forming in his gut, as Scotty began his strut toward him, looking every bit the part of a ridiculously proud peacock in a cheap suit. Nikolas barely held in a scoff.

"I see I can add you to the list of those all hot and bothered over Ms. Quartermaine's disappearance," sneered Baldwin, eyes glinting maliciously at the Prince.

"Kidnapping, Baldwin," Nikolas corrected him firmly. "Emily was _kidnapped_."

A smirk, tiny and thoroughly punch-able, clung suddenly to Baldwin's arrogant face. "She does that quite a bit, doesn't she? Getting herself nabbed, that is. Let's just hope the girl has the good sense not go making _moon-eyes_ at her kidnapper this time."

Of their own volition, Nikolas' fingers curled tightly into lethal fists at his sides. "Watch it, Baldwin," he gritted out, feeling precious control ebb away from him with every condescending word the DA spoke.

The sound of a clucked tongue flittered through the air, and Scotty's smile only grew wider as his hands found their way into his pants' pocket. "Careful now, littlest Cassadine, you don't want to go picking a fight with someone such as myself. I don't give a rat's ass who your uncle is, I have the power to make things _very_ difficult for you…" Baldwin trailed off as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his head cocked to the side slightly. "Say there, Nikky, have you been thoroughly questioned yet? Where were _you_ at the time of the kidnapping? I mean, isn't that how you Cassadines like your women, helpless and held against their will?" Scott's eyes were practically glowing with unbridled glee. It made Nikolas' fists itch. "Maybe you just decided to glaze over that whole dating nonsense and get right to the capture and imprisonment. You know, _the good stuff_."

The image that Scott presented, one absolutely devoid of actual human decency and, instead, dripping with mirthful scorn, threatened to push Nikolas' already fragile state past the breaking point. All he wanted was to find out what had happened, and since both Jason _and_ Emily's guard were incapacitated, and Sonny wasn't exactly… _approachable_, legal and traditional methods were all the Prince had left. He honestly didn't need this pompous bastard making even _this_ alternative difficult on him, standing as just one more obstacle between him and finding Emily. Nikolas just wouldn't stand for it. Bottom line: the Prince was in no mood for Baldwin's bullshit. He wasn't in the mood for much at all.

Steeling his gaze and making his body go as rigid as humanly possible; Nikolas made special effort to look DA Baldwin directly in his ferrety little eyes. "Go to hell, Scott." With that, Nikolas turned and stalked out of the Police Department.

As much as it chafed him to admit it, he should've known, really. To get anything worthwhile accomplished in this town, the completely incompetent police force of Port Charles stood as the _absolute_ _last place to go to_.

No, if you wanted answers in PC, if you wanted things to get done, you went to one man and one man alone.

**-----**

"She sleeping again?"

Lorenzo started slightly at the familiar voice, but not enough to be noticeable. He turned around to see Miguel creep out from a patch of shadow in the long hallway. "The chloroform really did a number on her, I think," said Lorenzo, his gaze retrained on the image of Emily's prone form on the massive four poster bed. "She stirred a bit, but then…"

"She'll be slipping in and out for at least the rest of the day," said Miguel, peering over Lorenzo's shoulder into the room. "I'm afraid Javier got a little carried away with the stuff."

Lorenzo snapped his head up. "She'll be all right, though? I mean, it won't do any damage…"

Tiny frown lines Lorenzo couldn't quite see in the dim light appeared on Miguel's face. There was that note of concern in Lorenzo's voice again. He wasn't sure he liked it. "She'll be fine. Considerably groggy when she finally comes to, but fine none the less."

Lorenzo sighed, relieved, and turned his eyes back to Emily. Pinkish morning sunlight filtered softly through the sheer drapes and splayed across the girl's body. Trying not to, but honestly not being able to help himself, Lorenzo admired how the light made her hair spark and her skin glow. He thought back to the photograph he'd seen of her, that… _something_ he had seen in her face. On paper it hadn't been much more than a vague flash, but in person… Well, you know what they say. Seeing is believing. And now, as he looked at her, the impossibly long brown hair, the fair skin made almost golden in the dawn's light… If he were to just squint the tiniest bit—

"Why did you have her put in here?"

Miguel's quiet, but noticeably strained voice once again cut through Lorenzo's thoughts, only this time the interruption was welcomed. He couldn't afford to have his mind wander like that again. Nothing could be gained from that sort of thinking, nothing. "The rooms were available, Miguel."

The Lieutenant's eyebrows pitched questioningly. "Of course, they're _always_ available, "he whispered harshly. "But so were the other _ten_ living quarters."

Lorenzo pivoted and looked his friend in the eye. This was one of the things that could bother him about Miguel. The way he seemed to feel so at ease being openly defiant and, at times, even disrespectful. If it had been anyone else… "Do you have a problem with my choice of lodging for Ms. Quartermaine, Miguel?"

Miguel's face became imperceptibly tense. "I think you know the answer to that," he said, narrowing his eyes at the figure on the bed. "She doesn't belong in there, Lorenzo. No one does."

"This is my home, and I'll put her wherever I damn well please," snapped Lorenzo, jaw tightening roughly. He really did not want to have this conversation right now…

Miguel's eyes slipped closed in exasperation. "I just don't see why it had to be this--"

"Enough!" Lorenzo's voiced boomed loudly in the empty hall, eliciting a faint moan from the now stirring Emily. Panic flashed in Lorenzo's eyes and he latched a hand on Miguel's arm, dragging him away from the doorway. "Don't read more into this than there is, Miguel. She may be here against her will, but that doesn't mean the girl doesn't deserve every comfort. I won't have her holed up here like some prisoner—"

"But that's exactly what she is!" protested Miguel, ripping his arm away from Lorenzo's grasp. "You would do well to remember that."

A cold fury swirled in Lorenzo's blood. "Was that a threat?"

Miguel held Lorenzo's stare steadily, not even daring to blink. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, he had been afraid of this ever since he first saw the girl, but out of respect he had kept his mouth shut and given his friend the benefit of the doubt. After all, just because _he_ saw it, didn't mean Lorenzo did. But the fire in Lorenzo's eyes told Miguel he didn't have that particular luxury any longer. Lorenzo did, in fact, see it. And absolute nothing could have been worse. "Don't do this, Lorenzo. Please, don't go down this road…"

There was a twitch in his stance, a slight falter of his shoulder blades that in one second confirmed all of Miguel's suspicions. _Heaven help us…_ "Lorenzo –hey, _look at me_—Lorenzo, you _cannot_ do this to yourself, okay? We are so close to getting what we want, don't make things difficult now." Miguel's eyes flickered to the bedroom behind them. "That girl in there is _Emily Quartermaine_, she is not--"

"Breathe so much as another word, and you will regret it." The words were savage but quiet, frighteningly calm but brutal all at once.

Any sympathy Miguel may have been feeling sharply fell away as he narrowed his eyes upon Lorenzo. There was a hardness brewing in their depths, a hardness Lorenzo had only seen directed at him once before. "Don't you _dare_ forget who you are speaking to, Lorenzo," said Miguel, his quiet voice nearly quaking with rage. What in the hell made Lorenzo think he could just order him silent like that, about _this_ of all things? "I may be your subordinate when it comes to business, but we aren't talking about _business_. Do you honestly think I don't see what's going on?" Miguel gestured toward the open bedroom door. "This was supposed to be _simple_. But no, you couldn't handle that, could you?" Clenching his eyes closed, Miguel shook his head in disbelief. "I knew it. I _knew_ something was off from the second you told me to keep her safe…"

Lorenzo's brow knitted and his jaw became set. "Oh, I'm sorry, last time I checked bargaining chips were useless dead. I was protecting our interests, Miguel. It had nothing to do with the girl." Lorenzo paused and took in a deliberate breath. "And absolutely nothing to do with what you're hinting about." It was a lie, of course, but Lorenzo didn't see how Miguel needed to know that.

Miguel took a slow step forward, his form casting Lorenzo's face completely in shadow. "I am _not_ blind. Do you think I don't recognize that look in your eyes? First you go and see her in person yesterday, next you tell me to keep her _safe_ during the kidnapping, then you show _concern_ for our _prisoner_, and now you put her in _Elena's bedroom_! You tell me what I'm supposed to think, Lorenzo. Because I _really_ do not like the way things are adding up here!"

He was right. Goddamn-it, Miguel was right. Inside Lorenzo knew he was being ridiculous, groping for something that just _could not_ be there. He was being foolish and he knew it. But there was no way he could ever let Miguel know that. Hell, _he_ didn't even want to know it. Squaring his stance, Lorenzo drew upon the resurging bitterness he felt coursing through him toward his childhood friend. It stunned him how easy it was to feel all that again. "Quiet yourself, Miguel. You are treading on dangerous ground here."

"No," spat Miguel, a twisted grimace forming on his lips. "That, _my friend_, would be _you_." With one final glare at the bedroom, Miguel turned and walked away.

Lorenzo didn't waste his energies staring at Miguel's retreating back. Instead he quietly made his way back to Emily's room. Only this time he dared to venture past the threshold, to within the chamber itself. With every careful step he took, Lorenzo's eyes stayed fixed on the sleeping girl that occupied the ornately carved bed.

The bed, the whole room, everything in it was once as familiar to him as his own quarters. But now… Well, Lorenzo hadn't been within these particular set of rooms for nearly twelve years. Reluctantly, he peeled his gaze away from Emily and slid it tentatively over the room's walls, the furniture, the paintings, everything… It was like a living snapshot of the past, a moment captured in time, frozen for over a decade.

It felt eerie, and maybe, just a little wrong. He knew Miguel saw this as wrong. Little Mige, as Lorenzo had grown up calling him --a nickname bestowed upon an infant Miguel by Lorenzo's father, Ramon-- detested the idea of anyone within these walls. Much like Lorenzo himself, Miguel avoided contact with this part of the house, avoided the memories, did his best to avoid the past altogether. They buried themselves in the present, threw their minds and their heart into new business ventures, _anything_ to keep it all safely away, where it belonged.

So why put some nothing little girl who was, in truth, a perfect stranger _and_ the sister of his enemy, within this hallowed space? Lorenzo wasn't sure. All he knew was that, from where he sat, seeing her curled form huddled against _those_ beddings in _this_ room… Something about it felt achingly familiar.

Something about it felt right.

**-----**

**TBC**…


	8. That Inevitable Rewind

**_a/n:_** _Okay, this here chapter is sporting one little, teaser of a flashback. Our back-story involving Lorenzo and Miguel officially starts here and were just going to plunge right in. So yeah; the mystery of "Elena" will be a mystery no more once you read through this. Okay, that was a lie; her whole back-story will remain a mystery for at least two more chapters. But you'll get the general gist of who she was. So anyway, enjoy! And no, I haven't forgotten the PC gang… there in here too. (all except Lucky, Liz, and Ric… couldn't quite get them in yet.)_

_Oh, before I forget, for future chapter reference: Now we all know Luis was the oldest Alcazar, and I'm putting Lorenzo at about four years younger than him. As for Miguel, I'm making him two years younger than Luis, but two years _older _than Lorenzo, putting Miguel between the brothers, age-wise. I think that would explain how Lorenzo and Miguel were closer as kids than Lorenzo and Luis. Okay, hope that's not too confusing…_

_Also note, Sophie Germaine does not exist in the SIB universe. I'm taking Lorenzo's early life in an entirely different direction here, folks._

**Somewhere In Between**

**----- **

**Chapter Eight: That Inevitable Rewind**

**-----**

It had been a stroke of pure luck, really. Something Nikolas Cassadine wasn't entirely familiar with, but an occurrence, however rare, he welcomed all the same.

He'd been barreling across the docks, on his way to GH to find Sonny, when low-and-behold, he practically runs the man down.

"Oh, God…" Nikolas huffed, a bit out of breath, as he grabbed at a nearby post to steady his suddenly unstable form. "I'm terribly sorr…" Nikolas's hasty apology died on his lips when he saw with whom he had collided. His eyes went wide. "Sonny!"

Looking rather annoyed and like he'd made the trek between PC and Hell about four times during the course of the night, Sonny righted his suit and stared crossly at the youngest Cassadine. "Nikolas," he greeted the younger man smoothly, only a small note of his impatience showing through. "I didn't think I'd be adding you to the list of people trying to kill me…" he paused and shot the Prince an appraising glare. "_Yet_."

Not at all sure if it was a weak stab at humor or a genuine assessment, Nikolas forced a ghost of a smile before allowing himself to be completely swallowed up by the urgency he felt. "Sorry about that," he said quickly, almost dismissively. Sonny wasn't feeling any less ticked at this point. His meeting with Myer had been a joke, his contacts were spitting nothing but condolences, and, so far, he hadn't caught so much as a murmur of _anything_--anywhere. The channels were disgustingly quiet. He _really _didn't want to deal with people right now. He wanted to break something.

"Actually, I'm really glad I… err… ran into you," Nikolas said. "I was on my way to the hospital—I really have to talk to you about--"

"Emily?" Sonny's stomach did a foreign type of clench when the Cassadine kid nodded curtly, his lips pulled into a thin line. Of course Nikolas would want to talk to him; it wouldn't be long before every single one of Emily's closest friends—his sister-in-law included—descended upon him in mad fury. Not that he didn't deserve it, because he did. All that and more, actually...

"Yes," Nikolas said, trying his level best to keep all traces of his anger locked away. What happened to Emily was Sonny's fault, but going around saying that wouldn't get him any closer to finding her. "Look, she's been gone for hours and the police…" Nikolas shook his head despairingly. "Well, I guess I don't have to tell you how useless they are."

Sonny stared at the look of expectancy on his face for a few moments, trying to decipher where the kid was headed with this. He had a vague idea, but at this current juncture, Sonny felt his inklings might need a bit of a tune up. "Does this have a point, Nikolas? Because I kinda have somewhere I need to be right now..." Sonny clasped a hand over his watch.

"Precisely," snapped Nikolas, who quickly flashed a regretful look. "Okay," he sighed. "I realize I may not be going about this in this best way, but I know that because of who Emily is… to you… that you couldn't possibly be leaving the search for her up to the incompetents at the PCPD. You have influence and contacts, Sonny, all over the world. Reliable and far reaching ones that you could put to very valuable use in this situation--"

"And your point would be…?"

Hardening his eyes, Nikolas straightened his back and looked Sonny dead in the eye. "You aren't the only one with connections, Sonny. Whatever you have set in motion to look for her, I want in on it, and I am fully prepared to commit anything necessary to the search."

-----

"So what does that mean exactly?" Courtney Matthews was perched on the edge of a hideous orange plastic chair, gazing up at a tired looking Dr. Monica Quartermaine, the bridge of her nose scrunched in hopeless confusion. Monica had just broken off a particularly long-winded and… _intricate_ medical explanation of her son's condition. Every tongue-twisting word of which Courtney didn't feel the least bit embarrassed to say she _had not_ understood, at all. She wasn't by any means stupid, but _really_, was simple English too much to ask? "He's going to be okay, right? I mean, everyone keeps saying he's going to be fine, but I still can't seem to get a straight, _simple_ answer out of _anyone _on staff, and—and I really think that…"

Monica smiled weakly, and Courtney found her words falling away. This wasn't just another nurse or harassed surgeon—this was Jason's mother, and, however complicated their relationship was, she loved her son. Monica wouldn't shout some incoherent med-school babble at her and then shunt her away, she would explain. Maybe she was the only person who _would_ explain. Courtney relaxed in spite of herself.

"Jason will be fine, "Monica said as she sat down next to Courtney, her red-rimmed eyes brightening in spite of everything. "I was just told that they'll be bringing him out of surgery very shortly and moving him temporarily to a recovery room on the ward. Thankfully, the bullet didn't fracture bone, but unfortunately it did cause some damage to the cartilage in the area. Now, it should heal properly, in due time. That is, providing Jason doesn't tear out of here the second he comes around." Monica paused and her face became drawn, her lips pressed together thinly in an effort to halt tears, no doubt. "I know he'll want to look for… well, to help search for--for Emily," her voice trembled horribly with daughter's name "But… Well, I suppose it's hopeless to think he won't bolt off, isn't it? He hates hospitals and he loves his sister. As Emily would say, 'it's a no-brainer.'" Monica let out a tortured sigh, her eyes growing glassy again in the waiting room's harsh fluorescent lighting.

It was Courtney's turn to lend a comforting smile then, and she did so, feeling oddly at ease knowing Monica understood how her son would reason. Because she was right; if they could count on anything at all, it would be Jason's determination to get to Emily. But it would have been a grave untruth to say part of Courtney didn't wish she wasn't going to have a fight on her hands when he woke up, that she wouldn't have to vainly beg for him to stay and allow himself time to heal, because she did. But while there was that part of her that was fearful, there was another part. And, well, that part of her knew all those wishes were pointless because he would do what he had to do, and _that _knowledge made her love Jason even more. Jason's family, the people he loved, would always –always—come first, no matter what. And as soon as consciousness hit him, nothing short of the apocalypse --and most certainly not a bum shoulder-- would keep Jason out of the fray. He just didn't have it in him to lay back and watch, especially not when Emily was still missing.

Courtney did something then she had never done before, she reached out to Jason's mother and placed her hand over the older woman's, squeezing gently. "I, um… I don't know Emily very well, but what I do know is how much Jason loves her. The way he talks about her…" A smile broke out on Courtney's face at memory of Jason's first conversations of his sister. The love and adoration, the pride in his voice was so stunning and heartwarming that –if possible—it made her fall for the man even harder. "I've never seen anything like it. Jason won't rest until she's home, and I know Sonny will do _everything _he--"

Courtney's voice fell dead as Monica suddenly pulled her hand away and got to her feet. Courtney looked up, confused anew. It was like someone had flipped a switch, all traces of tenderness had melted away and a palpable… resentment almost, was visible in every tense line of the other woman's body, right down to the dangerous flash in her eyes. Courtney was at a complete loss. _What just happened?_

"Well," Monica said, clearing her throat. "As I said before, Jason will be just fine, given time." With a curt nod, Jason's mother turned her back to Courtney and began to move away.

"Wait!" Courtney jumped to her feet and called after the now swiftly retreating woman. "Monica, _please_, I didn't mean to--"

"I wouldn't waste my breath if I were you."

Courtney wheeled around. "Carly…" she breathed, looking between her sister-in-law and the distant form of Jason's mother with confused eyes. "I don't know what I did, but she just… _freaked _and took off." Courtney sighed miserably and sunk back into the ugly plastic chair, her head in her hands. "I was trying to _help_."

Carly sat down next to her and skimmed a gentle hand over the other blonde's hair. "It wasn't anything you did or didn't do, sweetie. That reaction was about one thing, and it wasn't _you_." Carly smiled sadly at her friend, and it was like a light suddenly went on in Courtney's head.

"Sonny." It was the only explanation Courtney could come up with.

Carly nodded, her smile faltering. "Right in one," she sighed, drifting her eyes to Jason's parents who sat together at the far end of the corridor. "There's some old resentment there toward him, though it doesn't get harped on as much. But it is still there, under the surface, and something like this…" Carly shook her head and looked back at Courtney with heavy eyes. "Well, I guess it's only logical to assume that those feelings would flare up again. I mean, it isn't like they aren't at least half-way justified. Emily was taken because of the role she plays in Jason's life, in Sonny's life, because of her connection to us… to him."

Courtney frowned and bit her lip. "You don't know that for sure, Carly. No one but Jason, Johnny, and Emily know who really took her--"

"Don't be naïve," Carly snapped. "Four days ago, at your wedding, someone tried to kidnap me and they failed. Now Emily gets taken? You can't honestly think that's a coincidence, do you?"

Okay, so it made sense. Horribly plausible sense. "I guess not," Courtney sighed.

"Exactly," said Carly flatly. "Emily was an alternative route. They couldn't get me and you were somewhere untraceable, meanwhile, here's Emily, virtually wide open to threat--"

"Jason had Johnny put on her," Courtney countered.

Carly snorted. "Yeah and look how well _that _turned out. Let's just face it; whoever took Emily was damn determined to do so. They didn't care what they had to do to get her."

A pregnant silence fell over them and Courtney found herself lapsing into thought. Carly was right; whoever took Emily didn't care what they had to do in order to get the job done. Now, that read a little bit different than the attempt on Carly at the wedding, didn't it? Carly wasn't hurt, wasn't knocked out, there was only one guy, and no one drew a weapon. The differences between attacks were quite staggering actually. The first one was small-scale, nearly amateurish. But the second… that approach was something akin to open warfare. Shoot first, ask questions later. Maybe the kidnappers had merely learned from there mistakes and had decided to take a more brutal approach, or maybe—

Carly had shot out of her chair, practically running over a passing surgeon wearing soiled scrubs and clutching her surgical mask in her left hand. "Did you just come from operating on Jason Morgan?" Carly asked the surgeon, placing herself directly in front of the woman.

The startled doctor took a step back and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry; I was attending to a different surgery." She tried to move past Carly, but the insistent blonde impeded her path yet again.

"Who?" Carly asked anxiously. "My sister and I have been waiting here for news on a friend of ours, Johnny--"

The surgeon's eyebrows rose. "Are you two here for John O'Brien?" The surgeon looked between the two blondes with wide, almost relieved eyes. "I was just on my way to the nurse's bay to have his family paged..."

"We're not his family. We're his, um, friends. See, he works for my husband. Um, it's just him and his younger sister, but, well, see, she's—she's only fourteen—she's home now, with a sitter--" Realizing she was rambling, Carly broke off abruptly, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again slowly, seemingly collected. "Yes," she said calmly, nodding along with Courtney, who had come out of her chair as well. "We're here for John O'Brien." The pair fixed the doctor with identically hopeful gazes. In response, she gave a forced, watery smile.

It didn't last.

Courtney felt her stomach lurch and her face pale. She hadn't known Johnny for long but he was a steadfast and loyal employee of her brothers, and he'd never been anything but nice to her. She considered him a friend. "Is he—I mean, he isn't…?" Courtney saw Carly wince at her side and knew that it was best she hadn't finished that sentence, not that she could have anyhow.

Solemnly, the doctor, a woman of about forty shook her head, her rounded face moving in a frown. "No, he's still with us, but I'm afraid—well, the bullets, one of them have ruptured his spleen. He's hemorrhaged internally, meaning that he's suffering _severe_ internal bleeding. Now, we're trying to stem the flow of blood, but it's taking longer than we would like. He's already received several transfusions, which seem to be making some difference, but that in itself won't be--"

Carly had had about enough dancing around the issue. Hands on hips, she glowered at the woman. "Enough with the double-talk, sweetheart. Is he going to be okay, or not?"

The doctor paled visibly under Carly's harsh glare. She cleared her throat nervously. Behind her concern for Johnny, Courtney felt a pang of sympathy for the doctor. This sort of thing was bound to be awful… "I'm—I'm sorry," stuttered the doctor, quickly straitening her back to regain her composure. "But he's in very critical condition. On arrival he had already lost a considerable amount of blood. If we can't stop the bleeding--"

"He'll die?" You would have had to be deaf not to hear the tremble in Carly's voice.

Looking more ill-at-ease than Courtney thought possible, the doctor gave a small, sorrowful sigh. "We can't say for sure. But I won't lie to you, his condition is life threatening, extremely so." Sparing one more pained glance between them, the doctor began to move away. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get back in there." With those words she walked away, leaving Courtney and Carly with absolutely no clue of what to do or say. Where were they supposed to go from here? They essentially knew nothing—except that Johnny chances for life were not by any means favorable. Both women felt sick to their stomachs.

They had just lowered themselves back into their chairs, transfixed in a sort of suspended shock, when a voice brought the real world crashing upon them once more.

"They've just moved Jason."

Both blondes shot their heads up. Monica Quartermaine was back and standing a fair distance away from them, looking massively uncomfortable, her hands clasped awkwardly in front of her.

Courtney was first to her feet, Carly wasn't far behind. "T-thank you, Monica…" The urge to somehow make amends, to apologize for things that were, in truth, not even her doing suddenly weighed horribly upon Courtney's conscience. She stepped closer to Monica, approaching the other woman with immense uncertainty, as if, at any wrong move, Monica would flee again. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean--"

Monica cut Courtney off with a stiff shake of her head and a look that said, in no uncertain terms, to let it alone. With a tiny smile, one Courtney was rather sure was forced to some degree, Monica looked determinedly at Courtney alone and said, in a remarkably calm voice: "He's in room 12, down the east corridor. He isn't awake yet, but I've been assured it won't be long." And with those words, she was off again.

Courtney stared after the spot where Jason's mother had just been standing, consumed by a feeling so odd that she couldn't even hope to place it. Thankfully, before she could indulge her anomalous feelings any further, she felt Carly's hand come to rest upon the small of her back. She turned to face her. Carly was beaming, it wasn't as bright as normal, but it was there, and it was so much more comforting than Courtney could ever explain.

"See?" Carly said in wavering brightness. "I _told_ you he'd be okay. I have yet to come across anything that can keep Jason Morgan down for the count."

Courtney smiled as well, a feeling of polluted happiness—which, in her opinion, was better than nothing—growing steadily in her chest, warming her spirits as best it could.

"How 'bout we go sit vigil until he decides to come around, hmm?" suggested Carly happily, linking her arm with Courtney's.

She really did have to give Carly credit. She was trying, and at this point it was more than Courtney felt she had the energy to do. She could not put into words how happy she was that Jason was fine and that he'd be waking up soon, but hanging over their heads like ugly black rain clouds, were two undeniable truths: Emily had vanished without a trace and Johnny was perched precariously between here and somewhere else. And the favor wasn't with 'here.' Courtney's heart had never felt so divided in all her life. Sighing wearily, Courtney nodded and let herself be pulled toward the east corridor, forcing her smile to stay put, trying her best to follow Carly's example. It wasn't going to be easy.

-----

Sonny blinked. Ahh, so his inkling had been right, after all. Kiddie Cassadine wanted to join the search party. Sonny shook his head. "Absolutely not." Sonny couldn't afford another head in on the operations, too many elements of his business would be open and at risk.

Nikolas felt like the bottom just fell out of his stomach. "You can't be serious!" he said shrilly, the vein at his temple popping slightly.

"Oh, I'm dead serious, Nikolas. I appreciate the offer, but if you really want to help, why don't you go offer a shoulder to the Quartermaines. Leave the search and rescue to the grown-ups." Sonny was aware that it was a cheep shot, but the Prince's feelings weren't his concern now. Mounting a distraction and intruder-free search for Emily was. Sure, the kid had contacts, but they weren't anything Sonny, himself, couldn't bring to the table. He didn't need any extra hands on this one; he would do this, just like he'd promised.

"I can't believe you!" It was official, the Prince had just snapped, clean in half, like a dry twig. His mind was whirling as he stared Sonny down; he could feel his breath accelerating in fury, even see his own chest heaving. "Because of _you_, Emily is gone! GONE! And now you have someone who not only cares about her, but also happens to have nearly inexhaustible resources at his disposal, wanting to help get her back, to help right a situation _you_ created, and you have the nerve to turn me down? What gives you the right, Corinthos?"

Now, Sonny understood rage, he understood it very well. But something he tended not to be very understanding of was insolence, no matter the circumstances. Yes, he was most definitely at fault here, he had reconciled as much. But this…? Well, Nikolas was just being plain rude. "I suggest," said Sonny, holding up a single finger and smiling coldly, "that you take a deep breath there, Nikolas, and ask yourself if this is really such a good idea."

Those words only served to aggravate Nikolas further. "I am offering my help here, Sonny--"

"Which I _do not_ need--"

"Stop interrupting me! And stop letting your damn pride get in the way!" Nikolas was red in the face now, doing something very un-princely: allowing his emotions to get the better of him. "Now look, if it's sensitivity you're worried about—don't! I don't give a damn about your business. Who's behind what, whose doing what to whom? _I—don't—care!_ You are one of the most powerful men on the eastern seaboard, Sonny, and you were just wronged. Something was taken from you, and I know you'll be doing everything humanly possible to get it back… to get _her_ back." Somewhere along the line, Nikolas' voice had quieted and Sonny could plainly see sparks of desperation flickering in his eyes. This boy had it bad. "All I want is to help, to be apart of it, because that is all I care about now. Threatening me isn't going to change that, _nothing _will. Sonny, _please_, I'm asking you, just let me do this." Nikolas honestly hoped Sonny realized just how difficult it was for him to resort to begging. Again, asking for things wasn't exactly normal Cassadine behavior. But if it would get him where he wanted to be, that much closer to getting Emily back, then he'd do it. He'd beg a million times over.

Sonny had to admit, the kid's impassioned plea was quite moving, and he certainly knew where he was coming from. If it had been Carly… Blinking away the thought, Sonny opened his mouth to give his answer when the shrill, electronic buzz of his cell phone rang out between them.

Nikolas flicked his gaze angrily to the phone in Sonny's hand. "We're not--"

"Excuse me," said Sonny stiffly, holding up a hand to keep the Prince silent. "It's important, _all right_?" And indeed it was. Looking at the ID, he saw the call was from his sister. Stepping away a few paces, Sonny turned his back to Nikolas and held the phone to his ear.

"Courtney?"

"_Yeah, it's me." His sister's voice was tired and relieved, pained and happy all at the same time. "He just got out, Sonny. They just brought Jason out of surgery."_

Warm relief settled in his gut. "How's he doing?"

_He heard Courtney sniff and then sigh. "Well, Carly and I are in with him now. He's not awake yet, but, um… well, the doctor who worked on him, Dr. Roads… he said the surgery went well, that he'll be fine; he just can't leave for a while yet. That he has a lot of healing to do before…" There was a sharp drop off in his sister's voice. "But that doesn't matter, right?" she finished, half desperate, half angry, taking herself in whole other direction now. "He's not going to listen to any of them, is he, Sonny?"_

Sonny understood where his sister was coming from all too well. Jason could be just as stubborn as him, and that was saying something. "Courtney," he sighed. "We can't stop Jason from doing anything, you know that. Best you can do is to ask him to stop and think before taking off like a bat outta hell. Though, right now…" Sonny's eyes strayed to Nikolas' pacing form. "Well, I'm just not sure how far you'll get. And hard as it's gonna be, Courtney, you're just gonna have to, you know, understand." Sonny didn't exactly feel this was the best place for this conversation at the present moment. He'd talk it out more with Courtney later, at home, when he didn't have a pissed off Cassadine breathing down his neck. "Look," Sonny said, changing the subject—if only slightly, "Have you heard any word on Johnny? Is he out of surgery yet?"

There was a long, suffocating silence and just when Sonny was about to ask if she was there, his wife's voice came over the line.

"_Sonny?" she said, her voice just as tearful and strained as his sister's had been. _

Sonny felt his heart begin to plummet. Why wouldn't they answer his question? "Carly, what's going on? I asked Courtney about Johnny and then… He's not… I mean, Johnny, he isn't…?"

"_No, he's alive. But…it's bad, Sonny, really bad." Carly paused and Sonny heard rustling, a tissue maybe, probably. "He's lost so much blood. The bullets… one of them punctured his spleen, it's… it's hem-hemorrhaged." Her voice quaked horribly. "He's—he's still in the OR, they're trying to stop the bleeding, but they… they don't know how long it'll be, or if he'll even…" _

"Don't, Carly," he said quietly. "Don't think like that, okay? Johnny's been with us a long time, and he'll be with us for a long time yet. Just… just keep faith," Sonny's voice dipped even lower. "And… and pray. It works, you know."

"_All right," came her broken reply. "But, um, just get over here, okay. Monica said Jason should be coming around any minute now. I'm sure he'll be able to tell you something, give you something more concrete to go on. Then you'll be able to find her, Sonny, you'll be able to bring her home. And then this… this can just be over already."_

"Right," he said, breathing in deeply. "Okay, I'll be there in a few, just, you know, hold tight, all right? I love you." Sonny paused for a moment, unsure of himself, but then plunged on, their whole horrific situation reminding him just how fragile and unpredictable life could be, and that waiting to say things could quite possibly mean they'd never get said. "And, uh… tell Courtney I love her, too."

"_Absolutely," his wife said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "Bye, baby."_

After giving one more goodbye, Sonny flipped his phone closed and turned to face Nikolas again. In what was quite possibly the weirdest moment he'd experienced in a long while, when Sonny looked at the Cassadine kid's slouched form, his haggard, mournful, and anxious eyes, Sonny saw himself, as he would be if their situations had been switched, and it had been Carly taken from him. In retrospect, he figured that was what did it.

"Come on," he said gruffly to Nikolas, who seemed to visibly relax right before his eyes. "Jason's gonna wake up soon—he may be able to point us in the right direction."

Relieved beyond measure, Nikolas followed silently in Sonny's wake toward the car. Nothing else needed to be said.

-----

Caracas: 1987

_Dappled afternoon sunlight poured in through the open windows, the sheers fluttering wildly in the warm breeze. On the floor, just inside the open veranda doors, sat the figure of a young girl, flowing brown hair cascading over her shoulders in silky waves. Her face was turned toward the shocking greenery that enveloped the horizon, swaying fruit trees and huge, sheltering peach palms moving gracefully with the wind. _

"_I know you're there, Miguel. No use hiding from me," said the girl melodically, her steady gaze never wavering from the scene outside._

_From behind her, a boy of seventeen or so emerged slowly from the shadows, his raven black hair combed neatly back, and his crisp white shirt impeccable as always. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, his eyes trained thoughtfully on the girl's back as he drew nearer to her. _

_She chuckled softly and the sound pulled a smile from the young man's lips. "You clomp," she said._

_A pair of raised eyebrows suddenly accompanied his smile--which had somehow morphed into a smirk. "I what?" Miguel sounded thoroughly aghast._

_Finally turning to face him, the girl's bright face and glittering eyes were lit in a dazzling smile. "You clomp," she repeated firmly. "You know, 'cause of those rowboats you call feet."_

_Obviously nonplussed, Miguel goggled at the girl, open-mouthed. _

_Another laugh drifted airily through the room as she got to her feet. She swept toward him with an almost ethereal grace, the top of her head only reaching as high as his chest. "Close your mouth, big brother," she said sweetly, placing a finger under his chin. "It's not a good look for you." _

_The gaping fish look fell away then, replaced by a pair of narrowed, playfully menacing eyes. "Brat," he growled. "I haven't seen you for nine whole months and this is how you decide to greet your brother, with insults?" Miguel pouted in mock injury, holding a hand over his heart. "You wound me."_

_Her smile softened and her eyes warmed with fondness as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her big brother's waist, clinging tightly to him. "I missed you so much, Mige," she said in a small, quivering voice. _

_He drew his arms around her small form and rested his chin atop her head. This was the first time he had been separated from his baby sister in his life. Nine months away at a boarding school without her… He had never felt so disconnected, so alone. It only made him appreciate being home, being here all the more. "I missed you too, Elena," he said softly, hugging her fiercely and giving into a genuine smile—his first in nine months. "I missed you too." _

_-----_

Miguel clenched his eyes closed trying to banish the memory from his mind. Only, it didn't seem to be working. The darkness only fueled the snippets of days-gone-by, dredging them up from the murky depths of his past.

And that was where he wanted to keep them, dammit. The memories, the glimpses of her face, the flashes of her voice. All those things were supposed to stay buried… just as she was.

Disembodied, they had no place in his life. If they couldn't spring from her directly, if the voice he heard in his mind couldn't come from her in the here in now, if the face he saw couldn't be right in front of him, alive and breathing, he didn't want it at all. He had no desire to tease himself with things that had no hope of ever being.

He had no desire to be Lorenzo.

Because that's exactly what Lorenzo was doing, torturing himself. He was trying to put his memories to the girl sleeping in Elena's bed. Be it subconsciously or not, Miguel knew that his friend was trying to anchor a ghost. And it _could not_ be done.

He wouldn't let it happen. That girl, that _Quartermaine_ girl, wasn't their Elena. And Miguel refused to allow her memory to be defaced that way. Yes, the likeness between Emily and Elena was there, he would admit to that. The hair, the dark eyes, the smile… it was all… similar enough. But that's all it was—similar. The only person worthy of _her_ essence, _her_ grace, was Elena herself. And she was lost to them now, forever. It was painful and it was vastly unfair, but it was true.

And Boss or not, Miguel wasn't about to let everything they'd worked for go to Hell because Lorenzo couldn't let go of the past.

-----

Lorenzo ran his hand over the dresser top. It shone elegantly in the sunlight, the polished marble top still as flawless as it had ever been, if not just a bit tidier than what he remembered. Continuing his inspection, forced on by some intangible urge, his hesitant gaze found rest upon a small, gold, filigree jewelry box, with an elegant 'E' engraved upon its gleaming top. He brushed his fingers across the lid, and before he could stop himself, he had opened it. A soft and haunting tune twittered through the air as the chained lid swung back. His stomach did a very funny thing then—it lurched, painfully. There, still nestled against the box's folds of purple silk lining, was a simple gold ring. A modest, but beautifully cut diamond sat in a high center setting upon the delicate band, flanked by two blazing rubies. The morning light seemed to make them burn. Unbearably fresh emotions coursed through him as he reached into the box, his fingers poised to close around the--

"…eerrr…"

Ripped from the moment, the delicate box closed with a snap, and Lorenzo rounded on the pained moan. Swallowing deep, he evened out his breathing and quieted his racing heart. She, Emily, was coming around, and now wasn't the time for foolish trinkets or the memories that went with them.

He watched with hooded eyes, as the stirring girl pushed against the fog invading her mind. He knew the feeling, like being trapped underwater, _murky_ water. Her face, the one he'd seen set in contempt—for him—was scrunched now, eyebrows drawn together, eyes blinking heavily, nose pinched, mouth open and closing uselessly. She looked like a lost child. A surge of guilt blazed through his gut, but he quickly stamped it out. There was no doubt that this was wrong, but it was also business. And sometimes, in his business, many unsavory things were excused for the sake of progress and the bottom line. It was a bit like war in a way. And everyone knew what they said about war… and love, for that matter.

She couldn't afford to slip out of it again. It was all Emily could think as she struggled to sit up, clutching at the queasy flutter in her stomach. As soon as her eyes had opened and she blurrily ran them over the foreign bedroom, her sense of panic began a steady climb. So, it _hadn't_ been a dream. _Great._ _Freaking wonderful._ She was… well, she didn't quite know where she was. But wherever that happened to be, inside the jumbled mess of her mind, Emily clung to a shred of hope, hope that her brother would find her. Jason would always come for her, always.

Then, in the far corner of the room, a shadow moved against the light, drawing her attention like a waving red flag. But it wasn't a flag; it was a figure, a broad shouldered figure… _Jason?_ God, she dared not even hope at that point. She knew her brother was good, but _damn_. This had to be record time or something. Sitting up straighter, Emily squinted into the light, desperate to get a better look at the cloudy outline before her hopes got away from her. She blinked rapidly, each flutter of lashes doing its part to clear the haze from her vision. When she was finally able to focus—_really_ focus, she instantly wished she hadn't.

Staring back at her through eyes of menacing brown, not gentle ice, from under dark, slicked back hair, and not dirty-blonde spikes, was none other than--

"Alcazar…" she rasped, her voice thick and not her own. Her hand closed over her mouth in shock.

Languidly, savoring the moment's irresistible drama, Lorenzo stepped closer to the bed until his knees connected with the footboard. Tucking his hands into his pockets, Lorenzo flashed a thin smile. "The one and only."

-----

TBC…


	9. It Ebbs Away

**Somewhere In Between**

-----

**Chapter Nine: It Ebbs Away.**

------

"Wait—he's just _gone_?"

"Yeah, I can't find him anywhere."

"Where did he say he was going after we left the police station?"

"He _didn't_, remember? He didn't say much of anything, mostly just unintelligible mumbling and tense silence. You know, when he _wasn't_ screaming at the top of his lungs, threatening every cop that didn't immediately say something useful."

Elizabeth took a deep breath and pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. She didn't need this right now. _One_ best friend disappearing was about all she could handle. "Okay, let's just think about this, you know, _logically_. What about Wyndemere? You know the tunnels are like stone mazes, maybe he just went down into the network to, I don't know, clear his head or something."

"Liz, be serious. This is my brother we're talking about. When he has ever taken the _passive_ approach to anything? And the tunnels? For _head-clearing_? Elizabeth, get real."

Elizabeth glared at Lucky. He wasn't being helpful right now. "Fine," she said tensely. "What about—"

"Do you not remember the last time this happened?" Lucky was beginning to lose his patience. He knew the alternative wasn't pleasant, but they couldn't just ignore it. "We were not sulking at home or taking calming rides in the jag, we were at the PCPD, out there, out _anywhere_, just looking, just trying to find some way to get to her."

"I know that, Lucky. Last time we didn't have a clue about who Zander was, and we didn't know anyone who did. All there was to do was hit the pavement. But this is… well, it's just _different_, Lucky. There's no reason to do that now. If this was done to get at Sonny, then he'll cooperate with the authorities, he'll try to—"

Lucky snorted. "Elizabeth. _Please_. The authorities? Are you kidding? The losers at the PCPD couldn't find their own asses with both hands and a map. If you think Sonny and Jason are gonna leave finding Emily to that sideshow…."

Elizabeth gnawed at her bottom lip in despair. They were running out of other options here, and even though she was fully aware of that fact, she still had to try. Looking up at Lucky with half-doubtful, half-hopeful eyes, she said: "What about calling his—"

Lucky, prepared for the last ditch attempt, vetoed it before it even left her mouth. "Tried it," he said waving a hand. "It was a no-go. Either he's outta range, it's off, or he' just not bothering."

"Okay, well then what about his—"

"No luck there, either. He hasn't answered any of my pages. I'm telling you, Elizabeth, he's either taken off on some one man crusade to get her back... or he's…" Lucky trailed off and allowed years of friendship and knowing each other like few did to fill in the rest. Elizabeth instantly caught on, her deep brown eyes becoming wide but somehow not surprised.

"No." She shook her head, errant strands of hair escaping from the messy ponytail atop her head. "You don't think…"

Lucky picked up the ball this time and nodded his head. "Actually, Elizabeth, I do. If I know my brother half as well as I think I do, I'd bet anything that he's already talked Sonny into letting him help with the search. And you know what? I pity the guys behind this, I really do. Because when this mess is all over and Emily's back home with us again and they catch her kidnappers, there won't be anything _left_ for Mac to slap the cuffs on. Jason and Sonny will see to that. And add Cassadine Vengeance to the mix?" Lucky shook his head and let out a mirthless laugh. "The city coroner might as well prep the tables now, because he's about to find himself knee-deep in business."

-----

Ric watched from the hallway through half-lidded eyes as his wife and her former flame discussed the apparent disappearance of another one of their friends. Spencer's last words sent a pang of nausea straight to his belly, leaving the lawyer weak-kneed and somewhat dizzy.

He should have seen this coming. That was all Ric could think. Who the hell had he been fooling, thinking he could turn a blind eye to Lorenzo's plans? Well, whatever he had been thinking, the thought process for damn sure hadn't been clear. Because he'd more than turned a blind eye, he'd opened the floodgates. Well, the security gate if one wished to get technical.

_It doesn't matter._

That was another thing Ric kept telling himself. There was nothing to be guilty about. Morgan and Corinthos brought this shit-storm down on themselves. For all those times Sonny—the arrogant bastard—had laughed in his face, made him feel worthless, and for all the steely veined threats Morgan had cast his way.

_They. Deserved. This. _

They deserved to have something taken away from them. They deserved to not know how to get it back.

But, see, the glitch in that mantra was the 'they' part. In Ric's skewed reality, Sonny and Jason did deserve it. But that list was only two people long. The list of those who _didn't_ deserve it had quite a few more names to it.

Like Emily.

Her family.

Her friends.

Elizabeth.

None of them deserved to have her taken away… to not know how to get her back, or if she even _would_ come back at all.

But even as he felt the familiar surge of blame ripple through his veins, a hot resentment sparked to life in him as he watched Lucky and Elizabeth continue their whispered conversation.

It hadn't started out that way. _Whispered_, that is. But after Lucky had shown up to bring Elizabeth home from the Quartermaine mansion, a wary glance and a deliberately lowered voice from the scruffy blond had reminded Ric once again of just how few people in this town trusted him. His marriage to Elizabeth didn't count for anything with the Spencer kid, Ric saw it clearly in his red-eyed stare. Something terrible had happened within the hallowed inner circle known as the 'Four Musketeers', and wedding ring or not, he wasn't invited to this comfort session. Nor did Ric think he ever would be.

And that just pissed him off.

He counted in this. Hell, he _was_ this.

He was Elizabeth's husband, her friend, her love, her life. This was _his_ house, the home he'd made with _his_ wife. Lucky didn't have the right to throw up those walls around them, to toss him out of the equation with that miserable, untrusting stare. But what angered Ric the most wasn't necessarily _this_ occurrence, but more the fact that occurrences of its kind—silent snubs and furtive judgments of his _monstrous character_—were almost routine here, even in his own home.

And who the hell did these people think they were, huh? Sonny, Morgan, Spencer… all telling him—without _really_ telling him—that he wasn't worthy, wasn't good enough. What made them so great that they could just think that way? What gave them the right to shut him out and shut him down like that? Didn't they know what he was capable of, didn't they _get it?_ Ric Lansing wasn't the freak-show butt of anyone's jokes, or the pathetic loser pining for his brother's acceptance.

He was a threat, _dammit_. Not just the so-called 'big boys' like Sonny and Alcazar, but him, too. _Him_. He deserved respect. He deserved to be feared. Not Sonny. _Not just Sonny._

Lucky looked up then from under the weight of Ric's stare. The younger man's brow pulled together into a tiny frown, barely noticeable, but definitely there. There was that familiar wariness in Lucky's eyes that Ric didn't much care for, but one that also made the lawyer's arrogant streak swell heartily. _Yeah, that's right, _he thought, fending off a smirk. _Look at me funny. Doubt me. Question me. 'Cause, guess what? All this grief—all this sorrow and doubt, this anger? Yup, all me, kiddo. All me... _

The silent confession sent an electric shock down Ric's spine. There was something so incredibly conflicting going on inside of him. A building and then a breaking, a recovery and then a destruction, a repentance crushed under the weight of hatred, pure, black, and twisted. To be honest, it was kind of scary, that war inside his head.

On the one hand, he was guilty. Terribly guilty, hate-yourself guilty. But on the other…oh, _Jesus_, it felt almost like _glee_, rising steadily in his chest, hissing and bubbling like hot water on a stovetop.

It disgusted him.

But then it didn't.

And then there was _this_, what was happening with Lucky right now. Two men looking at each other; one man knowing his own culpability like he knew back of his hand, while the other was stewing in what probably seemed like inexplicable doubt. An instinct, a spark of suspicion, Ric could see it all in Spencer's face. And the fact that there was no way—short of hearing it straight from Miguel or Lorenzo, which was unlikely at best—that any of it could be justified, brought about that jolt electricity again. It was exciting, this hiding in plain sight. It was thrilling.

And it was sick.

Ric knew all of this. And it made him want to give into peels of absurd laughter, this tiny gnawing knowledge eating away at the attorney's brain like trapped rats tunneling for a way out. He _hated_ himself, but he hated his brother more. He had done something truly awful. He had betrayed a sacred trust, and sacrificed an innocent girl on the altar of a personal hate so old and rigid, it didn't even have a name anymore. But the real funny thing—_the honest-to-God gut-buster_—was that, now, as he looked Spencer in the eye, watched him rub circles of comfort on his wife's back, Ric was experiencing his first ever 'Moment of Clarity', like suddenly all that foggy mess in his brain was lifting and he could finally see the truth.

_He didn't care. _

He didn't care about any of it. Not _really_. Not like how he thought he would.

The girl was off somewhere being held by a know drug lord and someone whom Ric was positive had killed before, possibly even derived pleasure from the act. Morgan was shot, the girl's bodyguard was near death, Sonny was undoubtedly scrambling in the shooting's wake, and every person Emily knew and loved was either desperately searching for her or grieving as if the poor thing was already six feet under the ground.

And yes, he was guilty. He carried that. He shared in his wife's somber stares and broken glances; they _were_ genuine, believe it or not. But that guilt in no way muted the giddy feeling of anticipation already fluttering in Ric's gut.

Morgan would suffer in his sister's absence, be devastated if the worse happened, and there would be _Sonny_, his disgusting thug of a brother, taking the blame for it all, finally knowing what it felt like to lose everything. Because if things went as Ric suspected, and Lorenzo dragged this out, or Miguel brought it to a believable end, Sonny _would_ lose it all, his business and the friendship of his apelike enforcer. And Ric would be able sit back and watch it happen, savoring the sweet knowledge that he helped bring it about. And best of all, it would be a passive revenge, with no foreseeable consequences on the horizon—no matter what Spencer said. No one would know the truth about his involvement, except for Ric himself. And that was more than enough for now.

He would enjoy this. He _could_ enjoy this and still be there for Elizabeth. It was possible. And he would do it. Because he had earned it. All those years of pain had _earned_ him this reward. He would get to see Sonny hurt for a change, and _no one_—not Lucky, not Jason, not even Sonny himself—could take that away from him.

Oh, yeah. All things considered, this little drama was promising to be one hell of a show. Two-Buckets-Of-Popcorn-Academy-Award-Winning type entertainment was about to commence. And, as unfortunate as the circumstances were, Ric could hardly wait for the lights to dim and the curtain to go up.

-----

A milky white haze pressed upon Jason's unfocused eyes. Not just any white, but that eerily familiar, sterile white. Hospital white. And then, as if on cue, the sickly sweet hospital smell—that mingling presence of disinfectants, medicines, past-their-prime-flowers, and a bunch of other things you were better off not identifying—filled Jason's nostrils and removed any doubt of where he was. Well, that and the fact that he was very obviously laying down blinking up at an ugly, water-stained square of ceiling tile through his gradually clearing vision. He knew this ceiling tile, had been in this position more than once. So, all in all, it was an easy deduction. Which he was thankful for at the moment, considering his thoughts seemed to be dragging through his mind like they had lead weights attached to them.

The next thing Jason's fuzzy mind processed was pain in his shoulder. And a general _throb_ everywhere else, like he'd just found himself on the losing side of a bar room brawl. But most of it seemed to be centered in his left shoulder, a steady pulsating stab of discomfort leaking down his arm in pin-prick tracks. That and his head felt like a split cantaloupe.

Distantly, he heard someone call his name, and then felt the warm tingle of a hand over his.

_Jason_, the voice called, _Jason, can you here me?_

He wanted to say yes, but his tongue felt like wool and he wasn't even sure he could open his mouth. Peeling his gaze off the ugly ceiling, Jason searched for a face to go with the muffled voice. As he blinked away the haze, he made out the dim outline of a featureless face haloed in fierce yellow-white light. For a second, Jason thought maybe he'd been wrong, and that he wasn't at GH, but that he was dead, and that this glowing figure was an angel or something. But as quick flutters of lashes cleared away the last hinders of his fog, Jason saw that he wasn't dead, but that it was still an angel he was looking at; his own personal angel.

"Courtney…" He rasped, his woolen tongue crudely shaping his fiancé's name. "Courtney, is that you…?"

"Yeah…" Her voice was clear now, so full of that gentle sweetness he loved about her. "I'm here, Jason. I'm here, its okay." He felt her hand press deeper into his, felt the bed dip as she settled more of her weight on it to get close to him. She was perched on the bed's edge, peering down at him with a broad, but somewhat sad smile. And as he looked up into her beautiful, open face, with the beginnings of tears welling up in her blue eyes, he heard footsteps approach the bed.

"Hey there, tough guy. Welcome back."

Jason swiveled his gaze and was met by Carly's face. She wore the same smile. That odd look of genuine happiness that was strained and beaten somehow. Something about it bothered Jason. There was a reason for the sadness in their eyes, but he just couldn't place it. It was right at the edge of his mind, but so much was still cloudy…

"How are you feeling? You in a lot of pain?" His attention was diverted back to his fiancé as she ran a warm hand up his sore arm only as far as the elbow.

Jason shrugged as best he could. "No, not a lot."

He heard Carly laugh the second the words had left his mouth, and heard her mutter a cheeky "typical" under her breath. He fought his smile and focused hard on Courtney's face. That look in her eyes, the way she was holding herself, even Carly's demeanor, the very _air_ in the room… something about all of it screamed abnormal to him. Something wasn't right. He was seeing them, talking to them, but it was as if a part of his brain had yet to click on, like someone had wrapped his mind in a net and only tiny things were getting through. Like he was looking at a puzzle with most of the pieces gone.

It was so damn weird…

He was about to ask what the hell was going on, but then Carly spoke again, and questions were no longer necessary. "I know you're going to ask, so I'll just say it before you do." Carly's eyes seemed to pierce him, and Jason glimpsed an honest maturity in her that he had never seen before. "We haven't found her, Jase. Emily's still gone."

Like a whirlwind, Jason's mind surged with vicious awareness:

_The flashlights in Emily's apartment. The bottle dropping and shattering. All those beams focused on a panicked Johnny. The mad dash to Sonny. The elevator that wanted to stop at every floor and the frustration that drove them to take the stairs all the way down to street level. The image of his sister's lifeless form being hastily shoved in a van. The fear. The anger. The vain bargaining. That cold laughter. The desperation he'd felt. The gunshots. Sonny's scream. The searing pain in his shoulder. That sick clunk his head made as it connected with the ground. That van tearing off down Harbor View Drive just before everything in sight dimmed out…._

Suddenly things weren't muddled anymore. They were perfectly clear.

He reached down to the IV drip threading into his wrist and yanked it out clean, not even wincing.

"Jason, don't!"

Courtney's scream didn't even register as he threw his beddings off in one sweep of his good arm and sat up.

"Jason, _please_ lay back down!"

Forcing himself not to flinch at the pain rocketing though his shoulder, he still said nothing in response to Courtney's pleas. He calmly shrugged away her tugging hands and swung his feet off the bed and to the floor, cradling his arm as he did so. It was then, out of the corner of his eye, that Jason saw Carly's very still profile observing the new chaos, but saying nothing. He was thankful for that, immeasurably so. He didn't think he could have lasted very long if they'd both been yelling at him.

"You just woke up, Jason. _Don't do this…"_

Getting to his feet with a surge of strength he couldn't place, Jason fought his body's urge to wobble, the frantic begging of his fiancé melting into the background of his consciousness. He felt bad for phasing her out, but if he took time to explain or even look at her right now, he'd cave and he knew it. She just had that affect on him, and at present it was something he couldn't afford. Emily was his focus; his sister was all that mattered right now, finding her, getting her back again. Everything else would wait, including his health.

He righted his frame and straightened his back as he flexed to his full height. _Okay, so far, so good._ But it was when Jason decided to give the barren hospital room a guarded once over, that he suddenly realized he had a bit of problem. Well, besides that Courtney was in front of him now, trying to push him back toward the bed. There seemed to an earthquake—an 8.7 easy—rocking the sterile room back and forth like there was no tomorrow. He felt an arm catch him mid-teeter.

"_See!_ You're not ready to be on your feet, Jason. Just please sit back down." At last the determined blonde succeeded and somehow Jason found himself sitting on the edge of the hospital bed again. "Good," she breathed, sounding equal parts relieved and plain frustrated. "Alright, just sit there and don't move, Jason_. I mean it._ I'm going to get a doctor to make sure you haven't ruptured your stitches or something. Carly, keep an eye on him, I'll be right back." In a flash of blonde hair, Courtney was gone, leaving Jason sitting on his bed, his eyes closed against the shifting room.

A pounding silence filled his ears for a full minute before: "Now's your chance."

Jason snapped his head up and looked at Carly, who had come to stand directly in front of him. "What?" he asked. "You're encouraging me to escape?"

Carly shook her head slowly and Jason got the distinct impression she was weighing ever word like it was gold. She was in her 'don't-mess-up' mode. It was a good mode for her. He thought she should try it out more regularly.

"Is there really anything I could say that would stop you?"

For a long moment, Jason looked at her, really looked at her. He couldn't put his finger on it, and he knew such things weren't possible in such small spaces of time, but something in Carly had changed since yesterday. It was like, overnight, she'd aged a hundred years in her own head. She seemed almost all-knowing now as she looked down at him with that half-smile on her lips. Truthfully, it unnerved him a bit. First off, because an all-knowing Carly could just never be a good thing, and second because the transformation sort of plunked everything into place. They were in the middle of some seriously bad things right now, things that actually held the power to change a person, to change even _Carly_. Jason's stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with quarters. He shook his head and lowered his eyes to the tops of her boots.

"I can't just sit in here, Carly. I have to find her. I have to."

Her boots moved toward him and then the bed shifted as she sat down next to him, the silk of her blouse chilling his bare forearm. "Sonny can help. That's what he's doing right now. Helping."

The quarters disappeared from his gut, replaced with tiny stabs of not-quite anger. "It isn't enough. _I_ need to be out there, _me—_" Jason directed a finger at his chest "—not him."

"Oh?" The single word rang in his ears like a sour note, and he didn't even have to look at her to know her eyebrows were pulled skyward. "How about you just let Sonny do something for _you_ this time, Jase, how 'bout that? He'll be here any second. You can tell him whatever it is you know that he may not, and then you can let yourself heal up a bit before joining him."

"I'm not going to be sidelined while my sister is out there somewhere scared and alone. It isn't going to happen, so give it up, okay?"

If she noticed the grinding edge to his voice, she didn't let on. "Nobody's trying to sideline you, Jason, just asking you to give it a few days. That's all."

Looking at her, Jason decided a subject change was best. They'd never agree on this point. She didn't love Emily like he did. She just didn't understand. Nobody would. Jason reached up with his good arm and ran a hand over his face, the simple movement echoing through every bone in his body. "Does Sonny have anything yet?" He could at least feel things out before Sonny got there, see if he knew about Alcazar's run-in with Emily, which he doubted he did.

His suspicions were confirmed when Carly frowned at him. "He didn't know anything when he left here. You know, after you and Johnny got sent up to the OR. But if he's gotten anything new since then…?" Carly shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it isn't like I'm the first person he'd run to with that kind of information. That's more your job."

Jason nodded, absorbing it, getting acquainted with the fact that outside of Lorenzo Alcazar, they had no real leads as to who took Emily. A half second later, something clicked in Jason's head. He looked up at Carly. "Wait—Johnny was in the OR?"

This Carly that had seemed like cooled over molten lava, crumbled a bit as he looked at her. It was then that the sadness invading her and Courtney's eyes made sense. "He's dead isn't he?" Jason asked bluntly. "They killed Johnny?"

Her eyes popped and her mouth fell open. "Oh, God, no!" she said, maybe just a little too loudly. "Well, what I mean is that he's still not out of the woods, not out of surgery actually. He's hurt really bad, Jase, really bad."

So he'd been right. The image of Johnny spinning around and around inside that halo of blinding light flashed in Jason's head. God, it must have been at least half a dozen guys. It was a miracle he even made it out of Emily's apartment alive. "What're his chances?"

Carly's head fell as she fiddled with a button on her blouse. "Not too good. He's lost a lot of blood; his spleen's ruptured, too. The doctor said that if they can't stem the bleeding…" Carly shook her head as she looked at him, that maturity from earlier was slowly ebbing away, her dark eyes becoming big and sad. "Jason, if he doesn't make it… I mean, what's going to happen to his sister? He's all she's got in the world."

It was true. Johnny had a baby sister, a beautiful fourteen-year-old-girl named Gina that reminded Jason so much of Emily right now, he tried not to think about it too hard. But Carly was absolutely right. It was just them. If you took Johnny out of that equation, all you had left was a little girl with a broken world and no doting big brother to take care of her anymore, nobody to keep her safe, make her feel loved or wanted. It really didn't seem fair. "Sonny and I will handle it, Carly. We take care of our own. Whatever happens we'll figure it out." He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "I promise."

Just then the door to his room swung open, but instead of Courtney, Jason found himself looking up at a clearly rundown Sonny and a very anxious Nikolas Cassadine. _What the hell? Why was Nikolas walking around with _Sonny

Sonny approached first with a lopsided smile on his face, reeking of sleep deprivation. "Hey, man," he said, bending to give Jason's good arm a brotherly tap. "It's great to see you up. You really scared the hell out of us last night."

Jason smiled back, even though he really didn't feel like smiling, or making idle chit-chat. What he felt like doing was getting the hell out of this place and getting to work. But before he could do that he had to confer with Sonny, even if—for some nameless reason—that option wasn't exactly appealing, either. "Look," Jason said, sliding his gaze warily over Carly and Nikolas before resting again on Sonny. "We have a lot of things that need to be discussed."

Carly, knowing how this kinda thing went, popped up from beside him, bent to kiss his cheek, walked over to her husband, did the same, and then left. Simple as that. Jason sat there and waited expectantly for Nikolas to vacate the room as well. But the kid didn't seem to be catching on.

Jason cleared his throat and gave Nikolas a pointed look. "Um, Nikolas, you mind…? Sonny and I need to talk. Alone."

He expected the young Cassadine to mumble some apology and then make his exit. But again Jason's expectations were not met. Nikolas held his gaze—well, his glare now—and kept his feet planted exactly where they were. "I'm not going anywhere, Jason. I want to hear this."

For a second, Jason thought he must have heard wrong, but then he realized it hadn't been a trick of the ear. Nikolas Cassadine was actually standing there, refusing to leave. Jason's eyes narrowed to angry slits. "Excuse me? I said, Sonny and I need to talk. Now, get the hell—"

"He stays, Jase."

Jason whipped his eyes to Sonny. "_What?"_

Sonny kept his voice quiet and steady, his 'don't question me' voice. "Nikolas is going to work with us on finding Emily. I told him that as long as he kept his mouth shut, he could be a part of the dealings."

Jason was now looking back and forth between Sonny and Nikolas like they were both certifiable. A kid, a _know-nothing_ involved in his search to get Emily back, knee-deep in Corinthos family business? Had he just slipped through the rabbit hole or something? "You're kidding."

"Sorry to say, Jason, but Sonny's absolutely serious." The Cassadine spoke again and Jason suddenly hated the sound of his voice. "I'm in this now."

"_The hell you are_," Jason snapped, getting to his feet again, a spike of adrenaline nullifying the throb in his shoulder and canceling out the room's tilt.

"All I want to do is help, Jason," Nikolas said, storm clouds forming behind his eyes. "I care about Emily, too, you know." A beat passed before Nikolas practically spat his next words: "Maybe more than you do."

Sonny closed his eyes and prepared for the room to blow sky high. _Wrong thing to say Nikky-boy, wrong thing to say… _

An icy fury had seized Jason's body as he slowly closed the gap between them. "Oh, so _now_ you care about my sister? Huh? You care about her so much that you neglect her and hurt her, ignore her and take her for granted? Is that how you _care_ for Emily?"

Nikolas straitened his back and held his ground, glaring back at Emily's brother. Jason didn't have a clue about what he felt for Emily… he had no right… "Hey—hold on a second here, that's not—"

"Shut your mouth, Cassadine." The words were low and gravely, floating somewhere between control and the utter lack of it. "My sister has cared about you from the first time she laid eyes on you, probably loved you even. And all it's ever gotten her is pain." Jason stepped closer to Nikolas, silent warning echoing off the barren walls. "You," Jason pointed over Nikolas' shoulder at the door. "Need to leave. Because _this_? This doesn't concern you."

Sonny, who had been watching the exchange raptly, stepped between the pair just as Nikolas was about to open his mouth. "Okay, that's enough." He took Nikolas by the arm and pushed Jason back down on the hospital bed. "Come on kid. Just go wait outside for a minute—no, I said go wait outside—I'll be right there."

Once the quietly seething Nikolas had been ushered away, Sonny turned to Jason. The wounded Enforcer held up a hand and spoke before Sonny had a chance. "If you want to let him help you, I don't care. But I'm not working with him—I'm not working with anybody."

Realization dawned in Sonny's eyes. Jason had no intention of making this search a team effort. "Wait—so, you're just gonna go it alone?" Silence met his question as Jason stared blankly at him. It was all the confirmation he needed. Sonny sighed and dragged a heavy hand through his hair. "Jason, you can't be--"

"Lorenzo Alcazar."

Sonny's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Did I miss something?"

"Alcazar," Jason said again. "He took her. I can feel it."

Sonny's eyebrows went up. "What happened to my brother? You're not itching to pin this on _him_?" Sonny knew how that sounded, but he didn't really care. If Jason had finally seen the light, Sonny wasn't going to be overly diplomatic about it. Jason had put him through hell over this Ric thing.

Jason shrugged and idly tried to test his bum shoulder's range of movement, wincing as he did so. "Don't worry; I still don't trust him. But I came across a new development yesterday."

"Oh, yeah—like what?" Sonny, shooting Jason a disapproving look, reached out and kept his friend's arm stationary. "Don't do that. You'll tear something and then Courtney'll kill you."

Jason laughed, barely, as he continued on, looking back up at Sonny. "Alcazar approached Emily at Kelly's yesterday. Johnny called me afterward and told me about it."

"Approached her like, talked to her?" Jason nodded stoically and Sonny, his mind rapidly processing the new information, took a seat on the edge of the hospital bed next to his friend. "So you think he tried to kidnap her yesterday at Kelly's, but that Johnny botched it for him, is that it?"

Jason shrugged his good arm again. "Maybe. I don't know everything. I just find it kinda strange how yesterday, out of the blue, he decides to try and _talk_ to my sister, and then a few hours later she's… she's _gone_." Jason tried his best to swallow the lump in throat, but he couldn't. The more he thought about Emily, the bigger it got.

"Okay," Sonny said thoughtfully, elbows perched on his knees. "Okay, well, it's something at least _halfway_ solid to go on. Anything else?"

Coughing a bit, Jason forced himself to speak past the uncomfortable lump in his throat. "Yeah, I went to Alcazar's yacht last night, around ten. He wasn't there, Sonny. He had that crazy son-of-a-bitch Garcia-Covas sitting in for him, told me Alcazar was 'out of town', that I'd 'just missed him'."

The first thing that flashed in Sonny's mind was a giant 'uh-oh.' Alcazar had flown the PC coop only hours before Emily's kidnapping. To anyone else that would read like a solid alibi, to Sonny and Jason, however, it reeked of guilt. And if Alcazar was behind this—an idea that was slowly becoming more likely—then he knew exactly how Sonny and Jason would take his absence. It was only a step away from laughing in their faces. "Okay," Sonny said, sighing. "Okay, this is what we're gonna do. Me and Nikolas—"

Jason had gotten to his feet again, was staring down at Sonny with determined eyes. "You and Nikolas can do anything you want, Sonny. But I'm not sticking around. Too much time has already been wasted."

"Oh, so what, you're gonna go track down Alcazar—who could be anywhere, by the way—and take him on all by yourself, _and_ do it with a _pulverized shoulder_? Yeah, Jason, that sounds like a _great_ plan to me…"

Jason shook his head angrily. "Don't do that. I don't need you telling me how screwed we are or reminding me that I basically know nothing about how to get to her. What I need right now is some _real_ clothes, my gun, and to go have a talk with your brother."

Sonny's eyebrows went up again. He hadn't expected that last article on the list. "So we're back to _him_ now? I thought you were locked on Alcazar."

Jason sighed, frustration bubbling up in his gut again. "Think, Sonny. Ric used to be Luis Alcazar's money-man. That means he used to work closely with him. If Alcazar's got Emily at one of his compounds or something, Ric may know what we're dealing with. He may know how to get her out."

Sonny barked out a laugh. "And he'll help us _why_? Because he just likes us both _so _much?"

Jason became completely still as he looked at Sonny. There was a brutal coldness brewing in Jason's eyes. "No. Because if he doesn't, I'll kill him."

-----

Emily blinked. And then blinked again. _Nope, still there_, she thought, nearing flat-out hysteria at an alarming rate. It had to be a bad dream, just a really awful, twisted nightmare that at any second she'd wake up from. That was all there was to it; any minute now she'd be yanked out of this soap-opera type delusion and she'd open her eyes to the crisp white of her new bedroom in her new apartment, get dressed, greet Johnny, and then drag him along with her to go have breakfast with her brother, as was the plan. See? That was why this just _couldn't_ be happening. Because it just _wasn't_ how things were supposed to go.

But, as Emily once again rolled a pair of panicky brown eyes around the bedroom, and across the man staring quite amusedly at her from the foot of the bed, Emily realized with a horrible sinking feeling, that this wasn't a dream at all. She'd been kidnapped—_again_. Honestly, wasn't once enough?

The nausea from before hit her full force as Alcazar's smirk morphed into a wide, mocking grin as he stared down at her. _Bastard_, she thought_, he thinks this is _funnyAnd, as if on cue, her former panic vanished and steadily melded into a far less conforming sentiment.

Lorenzo watched, with a mixture of careful weariness and honest-to-goodness amusement as Emily glared daggers at him from the bed. She no longer resembled a confused child. No, she looked much more like herself now, every bit the fiery young woman who so fearlessly faced him down in front of Kelly's. The inferno of obvious hate roaring behind her chocolate eyes sparked a raw anticipation of sorts in his blood. He could already feel his veins humming with the odd excitement, his heart speeding up, his mind and body subconsciously preparing for the blaze. Because, if yesterday had been any indication, _blaze_ she would. And he could hardly wait.

Emily, never breaking gaze with the dark-haired Venezuelan, pulled herself upright and tightened the closure of her robe (and tried not to get too hung up on the fact that a skimpy short robe and nightgown was all she had going for her clothing wise), all traces of disorientation suddenly nowhere to be found. Anger, pure and white-hot surged through her, searing the edges of her mind with its ferocity. Bit by bit, as she stared defiantly at Alcazar, her present situation began to take shape within her head, falling deftly into place each second that passed. She was… _well_, obviously _not_ in Port Charles anymore and this slick looking son-of-a-bitch was the reason for it.

Emily tilted her head and considered him in their mutual silence. _Why_, her mind asked. Well, that one was easy. Sonny…and Jason. It always came back to her brother and the man he worked for, always. _Never-freaking-fail._ But another part of that question still remained unanswered: Why take her, _of all people_? Surely, Alcazar had to realize that the baby sister of Sonny's enforcer wasn't as much of an on-the-money option as, say, Carly, or Courtney.

_No_, she thought, rushing to settle the annoying anomaly as a light flicked on in her thoughts, _he had already tried Carly. At the wedding. _And that ship had sailed, or, rather, that jet had taken off, right along with option number one, and two, hell, maybe even three tucked neatly away within its luxurious interior. Part of Emily wanted to laugh, let a rousing chorus of "Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah-Boo-Boo" rip while she thumbed her nose at the smug idiot standing over her—but another wanted to cry, because while Carly, Courtney, and Michael were safe and _home_—she _wasn't_. And that kinda sucked. A lot.

But Emily refused, as rattled and even worried as she may have been on the inside, to let it show. She was a smart girl, and as such, she knew where this whole ridiculous thing was headed. And exactly what part she played in all of it. She was (ta-da!) the bargaining chip in this little sideshow. And that meant they couldn't kill her. What's more useless than a dead bargaining chip? That's right, nothing. Of course, that didn't mean they couldn't hurt her, torture her. But, for some unfathomable reason, the man standing in front of her didn't seem like the 'make-them-suffer' type. He was a business man, just like Sonny. Though, she doubted Sonny would stoop to kidnapping, being the kindler, gentler, Mob Boss that he was. Well, as far as she was concerned, anyhow. She assumed more than a few people would have a different take on that one. Say, for starters, Lorenzo Alcazar.

And that brought her back to the task at hand. Emily had been an observer in her brother's world long enough, and had sat through too many Mob movies with Dillon, not to know, at least vaguely, what the next step would be. She was the kidnapped, and Lorenzo was the Kidnaper. He took her for leverage (what else could it be?) and now it was time to up the ante, to chuck the first log in the fire and get negotiations rolling. And there was only one way to do that.

Squaring her jaw, Emily spoke evenly and with confidence. "I want to speak to my brother."

Lorenzo's eyebrows shot up. That definitely wasn't the first thing he expected to come tumbling out of her mouth. But then he had to remind himself: Emily Quartermaine was full of surprises. "Been through this before, have we?" he said, feeling that familiar need to provoke, to see if he _could_ provoke her. He had no idea where it stemmed from.

Emily snorted; Lorenzo smirked. "As if you didn't know," she snarled, drawing her naked legs under her, leaning back on her heels. Hot or cold, he couldn't tell. Her reactions were a mixed bag, he decided. And that was fine with him, for now. He watched as Emily finally tore her eyes from his and did a coherent sweep of the bedroom, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes filled with mocking. "I do have to say, though, the digs are a cut above what I got last time around."

Again Lorenzo was assaulted with the unbearable urge to grin at her impudence. That 'blaze' was already starting, and he intended full well to play along before their banter turned vicious, as it no doubt would once she learned of the… _mess_ his men had left behind in Port Charles. Until that moment, though, the one where she'd ask and he'd be forced to tell her, and watch her eyes move beyond dislike and into raw, unbridled hatred, he'd indulge the girl's need to fight him every step of the way—maybe even get in a few barbs, himself. It seemed only fair. "Yes, well, we happen to be short on barnyard comfort around here, but there are stables in the back, that is, if you'd prefer them. Though, I dare say they won't be quite as… _inviting_ without Zander Smith there to keep you warm."

With a ripple of subdued injury he couldn't quite figure, Lorenzo noted the way her eyes narrowed upon him like he was the most despicable person on earth. He became instantly aware that he'd crossed the line. Her angelic face became hard and something not so much angry, but more resolute instead. There was a certainty bubbling in those eyes, a certainty of will, a declaration of victory. She would beat him, and—with some arcane certainty of his own—Lorenzo couldn't help but believe—if only barely—that the girl was right. It was enough to melt his smile and drive the humming din of rushing blood from his ears.

This wasn't a game and she wasn't a toy. She was a girl whom he had kidnapped; she was a victim of his making. There was no excitement to be had here, no spectacle to ogle at. And what was more, something about her scared him. Yes, _scared_ him.

Breaking contact and settling instead for the richly embroidered bedspread, he gathered a response, knowing just how paltry it would be, and knowing she would only use it as further kindling for that Blaze he had so stupidly sought to invoke. "I shouldn't have said that. It was insensitive of me and I apologize."

Emily laughed out loud as she looked at the top of his head. So, first the guy tries to frighten her with just how much he knows about her, but only manages to insult her in the process, and then he apologizes for it? _Weird_, Emily thought, _just weird._ "I wouldn't bother with apologies if I were you. It won't make a bit of difference when this is all over."

Again, Lorenzo was struck with the need to just stare at her. The way her mind worked was truly intriguing. He had apologized because he had felt genuinely out of line, and she viewed it as an attempt to win her over. He honestly wondered where all her cynicism came from. It didn't suit her. "That isn't why I did it."

"Oh," Emily said, pulling her arms around herself even tighter, "_Right_. Cause you're just the perfect gentlemen, just a real _nice guy_ under that stuffy suit and all that Mob bravado?" Emily paused and leveled him with another glare. "_Please. _I know how people like you work, okay, so don't even try it. You decided you couldn't scare me so instead you're going to try and be my friend, see if you can get one more angle up on Jason and Sonny that way. Well, _don't_. Because like I said before, it's not going to matter. My brother is still going to find me, and he's still going to make you wish you'd never been born."

Oh, that was right. He'd forgotten that the poor girl still had no idea this grand rescue she was figuring in her head just wasn't going to happen, not with Morgan in his present condition. Lorenzo cocked his head to the side and eyed her intently. "You're awfully confident in that notion, aren't you, Ms. Quartermaine?"

"In _what_ notion?" Her voice was dripping with acid, and her eyes were full to the brim with disdain.

"That your adoring big brother will swoop in and save you any minute now."

He was messing with her and it pissed her off. He was trying to shake her confidence in Jason. But, see, there was one thing Lorenzo Alcazar didn't know about her: such a thing wasn't even _possible_. Emily drew her gaze back to his face and stared him dead in the eye, wanting him to know that she wasn't afraid and that no head-game he played would ever work on her, not as long as she knew Jason would come. "He came for me before, and he'll do it again. He always does."

Lorenzo clucked his tongue and walked to the veranda doors, pushed them open and inhaled the warm, sweet morning air. With his back to still to Emily, he spoke, knowing that as he did so, he'd be hurting her, and terrifying her. Maybe not right away, but eventually defiance would fall away and she would accept truth. And if she didn't hate him now, she certainly would then. "Always? Well, I think even the great Jason Morgan would find it an impossible task, saving you while confined to a hospital bed."

It felt like someone had just doused her in ice-cold water. Everything was numb. _Hospital bed?_ No, he was lying, just trying to get to her. Jason couldn't be… He _wasn't_. Jason was okay. _He was okay…_ "You're lying," she said, her voice not as steady as she'd hoped it would be. "Jason's not hurt. I just saw him yesterday. He's _fine_, and you are lying to me."

He pivoted to face her. He could already see it starting, that doubting panic slowly setting in. It would only be a matter of time now. "No, Ms. Quartermaine, I'm being perfectly truthful with you. Your brother was injured this morning. See, he was struck with the noble idea of preventing your capture, and was shot for his meddling. I'm sorry."

"No…" Emily shook her head furiously and closed her eyes, not wanting Alcazar to see the tears already welling in them. _He's lying, he's lying, he's lying…_ "I don't believe you," she squeaked, and then winced at it. God, why was she letting this bastard's lies get to her? Jason was _fine_. He wasn't shot. He was okay, and he would come for her and then everything would be okay again. It would be. It had to be. Jason wasn't hurt. _Oh, God, please don't let him be hurt… please._

"Then maybe you'd believe the news? Why don't you go turn on that television there," he said, pointing to the armoire in the corner. "I'm sure the story of your kidnapping and the shooting has already broken. Go see for yourself."

Emily swallowed hard as she turned toward the armoire. All the dread and the fear she felt rising up in her seemed somehow focused on that cabinet. It would either be her strength—or her unraveling. It was suddenly all her eyes could see.

"Go on," Lorenzo urged, watching her carefully. "It doesn't bite."

Emily's hands curled into fists at her side, her back still to Lorenzo. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her approach that television like it had the plague. She was stronger than that, better than that. Steeling herself, Emily plunged forward, ripped open the armoire's solid wooden doors and hastily grabbed for the TV's remote. She turned it on and was instantly assaulted by the image of a blonder-than-blonde newswoman. How convenient.

"…_In a breaking News story,"_ the blonde woman said in that practiced anchor voice—you know, the one that tried to sound genuine but only managed to drip cold insincerity. "_Emily Bowen-Quartermaine, heiress to the vast Quartermaine fortune, was kidnapped early this morning in a violent struggle that took place at her Port Charles residence. Two men, Jason Morgan, 30, associate of notorious New York Mobster, Michael "Sonny" Corinthos, and John Douglas O'Brien, 28, were admitted to Port Charles General Hospital shortly after 2 this morning—both men suffering from what hospital officials described as 'severe gunshot wounds'—"_ Emily's heart crumbled in her chest, and a dry sob rose in her throat as her vision blurred with tears. _No, no, no, no, no… _

The scene on the TV changed suddenly, switching to a morning shot of the 100 block of Harbor View Drive—her street. She watched, the acid tinge of bile stinging her mouth, as the camera panned down from the morning sky and towering buildings to land upon a chaotic scene on the street just outside her apartment complex. Police barriers and crime scene tape barred off an area of swarming uniforms and suited detectives. The camera did a sharp zoom, honing in on a section of road through the forest of legs and pacing feet. The tears that had only threatened before now came in a warm, burning rush. There, visible in flashes beyond the milling officers and detectives, was a patch of charcoal pavement, marred an ugly, sickening shade of black-red. Distantly, she heard the remote clatter to the ground as one hand flew to cover her mouth and stifle any sound that may escape, while the other reached up to the screen, her trembling fingers hovering only millimeters from the offensive scene as if afraid to touch it, afraid the horror of it would channel through her touch and make it real. She didn't want it to be real. "Jason…"

Lorenzo barely heard the tearful word as it slipped from her lips. But what he did hear twisted his stomach violently. And when Emily's legs failed her, and the girl slipped to the floor in a heap of brown hair, broken sobs, and flowered robes—a picture that was so achingly familiar to him—he was overcome with the desire to go to her, to try and comfort her. But he quickly mastered the urge, and instead merely walked up behind her and dipped to pick up the remote as the trembling girl continued to watch the news bulletin.

"—_at this time no further information is available on the men's conditions or concerning the brutal kidnapping of Ms. Quartermaine which has left the city of Port Charles shocked and dismayed. Police in the area--"_

With a twitch of his thumb, the TV went black. He tucked the remote away and closed up the armoire. Taking a deep breath, he turned around, prepared to be met the beginnings of vehement rage. What he found only stirred a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. Her delicate arms were drawn around her lithe body, her dark hair fell unruly over her face, and her eyes were unfocused and glassy. Through the curtain of her hair he could see her chin trembling.

She remembered telling him once, years ago, that he felt like home, that he _was_ her home. She had felt stupid at the time, silly as the unbidden words flowed freely, and she had waited for him to make that unsure face he would make when something she told him just didn't make sense. She waited. And she waited. But it never came. He just gave her one of his half smiles and saved his words, choosing instead to ruffle her hair and give her a hug. Just a simple hug. But somehow it had meant everything. It had been acceptance, it had been forgiveness, and it had been understanding and love. It had been _him_. Just Jason. Just her brother. Her brother that was strong and caring, brave and fearless. Invincible.

That was why none of it could be true. Because Jason wasn't supposed to be 'severely wounded'. Nicks, tough scrapes, and close calls…? Sure. But this? _His_ blood soaked into asphalt, _his_ name splashed across breaking news reports as part of the casualty list? No. _Hell no._ And maybe it was because of this belief that the need for denial took such a hold on her then. All she wanted to do was to shrug this whole thing off, to believe that somehow—someway—Alcazar had rigged all of this. That every last detail—the news woman, the camera footage of Harbor View Drive, even the very room she sat in—was just part of some really bad joke she wasn't getting. That, maybe, if she just sat there and closed her eyes really tight, every part of this nightmare would melt away and she'd be back home, waiting at Kelly's for Jason to show up, teasing him for being late when he finally did, and cracking some stupid joke just to see him smile… But, like everything else in the past few hours, Alcazar ruined even that vain little hope with his unwanted voice.

"Do you believe me now?"

She stayed unresponsive for a few very long moments, and just as he was about to speak again, he heard her mumble something. Again, the brunette's words were so soft, Lorenzo couldn't make them out. "What was that?" he asked, straining an ear toward her.

As Emily stared at the polished maple floor, a horrific image of Jason's bloodied body being wheeled into the General Hospital emergency bay suddenly assaulted her mind, and Emily felt something within her snap and then burn away, as if it never existed. Maybe it was the denial she'd clung to, her unwillingness to come to terms with her situation, but more than likely, she believed it was her control. Jason and Johnny could be fighting for their lives for all she knew. And for that atrocity, there was only one person to blame. Well, at least only one _tangible_ person. Lucky for her the bastard was standing right behind her. Emily drew in a deep breath, but this time it wasn't an effort to quell her anger—it was to summon it. Surging to her feet, Emily rounded on Lorenzo. "I said, '_I—want—to—go—home'_." Her words were tense and barely contained, just like her. "My brother, and someone I consider a friend are hurt—_because of you_—and I want to be with them—NOW!"

As he looked at her, Lorenzo suddenly gained a new understanding of self-loathing. The once bright, happy girl that had smiled up at him from those photographs was slowly, steadily falling away and being seized by a darkness of his creation. He was responsible for this and he hated himself for it. But with that hate, came a sobering surge of resentment toward her and this foreign _empathy_ he was feeling. What made this mark, this _girl_ so different from anyone else he had hurt or ruined to get what he wanted? What gave her the right to make him feel anything but numb right now? This was business, and as such, concessions were not allowed. _Feelings_ were not allowed. "I'm sorry, Ms. Quartermaine, but that won't be possible."

_Not possible?_ Was this guy deaf or something? Jason was hurt and he _needed_ her. What was so difficult for him to understand? She couldn't stay in this place. She _wouldn't_—no matter what he said. Emily's jaw clenched and she felt the muscles there twitch under the pressure. "Maybe you didn't hear me…"

"No, I heard you perfectly. Now perhaps you should hear me." Lorenzo, feeling brazen now, even as he saw the firestorm raging in Emily's eyes, stepped closer to her, putting less than a few feet between them. He ducked his head and held her gaze steadily. "You still aren't leaving here, not until I get what it is I want."

"And what the _hell_ would that be!"

His answer was simple, and at the same time anything but. "Cooperation. From Corinthos."

Emily laughed darkly, throwing her head back, and giving Lorenzo a look that plainly said she thought him the stupidest man on Earth. "Well," she said, eyes wild and mocking as she fought against the odd laughter bubbling in her throat. "If that's what you wanted, I could have saved you a bunch of trouble, _pal_, because that's something you're _never_ gonna get—at least not by using me."

An equally cruel expression found his lips, his mouth twisting up into a smirk. If she wanted to do things this way and downplay her own worth, then so be it. He'd just have to set the girl straight. Make her understand that a quick plane ride home wasn't going to be an option. "Oh, I don't know about that," he said, scratching idly at his beard. "I think you may be selling yourself short. You'll be extremely useful in my negotiations with Sonny. Just you wait and see."

"Oh, _really_? And what's going to happen until then, huh?" Emily cast the closed chamber doors a reproachful glare. "You just gonna keep me here, _locked away_, until Sonny gives in to whatever ridiculous demands you have for him?"

"Well, that is the plan."

A yell of fever-pitched frustration crackled through the room like a lightening bolt as Emily reached to her side, seized a delicate blue vase from a nearby table, and hurled it against the wall over Alcazar's shoulder. It exploded in a cloud of sparkling cobalt. And she was now standing very close to him, her anger blinding her to that fact. "I don't want to spend one more second in this decked-out prison of yours, _understand_? For the last time, _I want to go home!"_

Lorenzo—who had not even flinched at her outburst, _or_ when the antique vase narrowly missed his head and shattered against the back wall—remained the picture of calm, staying absolutely still as Emily's body quaked with rage mere inches from him. Even this angry, Lorenzo couldn't help but admire the girl's beauty. In fact, her fury seemed to heighten it, to kindle something in her that radiated out, making the air around them crackle to life. The charge rolling off of her was damn near intoxicating. "Well," Lorenzo said in a hushed, collected voice, his steady fingers reaching up to brush a wayward piece of chestnut hair from Emily's fire-filled eyes. "Then I suggest you learn to adapt to your new surroundings, Ms. Quartermaine, because you aren't going anywhere."

-----

Jason and Sonny stared each other, one in dead serious determination, just asking to be challenged, and the other in a sort of disbelief—pissed off disbelief.

But, perhaps thankfully, the tense moment was broken when Carly and Courtney came barreling through the door, both women smiling from ear to ear.

"He's out," Carly breathed, it obvious the pair had run all the way here. "Johnny's out of surgery, and—"

"And the doctors are really hopeful," Courtney finished for Carly, griping onto her friend's arm like it was some sort of lifeline. She looked between her fiancé and her brother, a desperate relief trickling over her as the news sunk in. _At least something good is happening in all this mess_, she thought, slightly dazed, _thank you God. _"They think he's going to be okay."

-----

**TBC**…


	10. Worth a Thousand Words

**Somewhere In Between**

**-----**

**Chapter Ten: Worth A Thousand Words. **

**-----**

_(a/n: I know we don't ever get to see if Sonny has an office or study in the penthouse, but as far as I figure, he's gotta have one in there somewhere… right? Oh, well… let's just pretend. Umkay?) _

Sonny watched the now familiar images flicker across his TV screen. Over and over it looped: the street reporter gesturing up to the fortress-like Brighton Terrace that stood just across the way from where Sonny was now; the zoomed-in footage of the media frenzy that had exploded down below; the somber statements and sullen oaths from Mac Scorpio as he stood stoically behind a podium emblazoned with the PCPD crest; and, finally, alternating between all that mess, were dozens of images of Emily herself, smiling at him from behind the flat-screened picture tube. Pictures from her modeling days, paparazzi snap shots of her out on the town with her friends, and then one of her and Jason that Sonny knew had to have been taken without their knowledge. It was obviously a candid photo, and besides, Jason didn't exactly do photo shoots. The press even somehow managed to get their paws on a photo with Emily, Jason _and_ Sonny in it, the one that had been taken of them at the last birthday party of Michael's she'd been in town for.

Seeing that had taken his wind. He hadn't been expecting to see the image of _himself_—standing between Jason and Emily, arms draped across both sibling's shoulders—smiling broadly back at him. It wasn't like he'd never seen it before. In fact, Carly, on one of her mysterious whims, had actually framed a copy of that very photo and put it up in Michael's room. But what had been surprising was seeing it plastered all over the news. There weren't exactly tons of photos of the three of them circulating around, and Sonny briefly wondered how the vultures had gotten hold of it. But then he remembered.

It hadn't been the first time.

It had been in the paper after she got hurt. Leaked somehow to the Herald and attached to some article that picked apart her accident. The intent of displaying her connection to him so vividly had been, as it always was, to twist it all around in order to drum up a buzz and attract readers—just another way to up their circulation or boost their ratings.

It was the same thing the press was doing now. They were milking this Mob angle for all it was worth; insinuations were flying wild, and, to be honest, it really pissed him off. Usually he just let it all slide off his back. _Never rise to the bait_. That was his mantra in cases like this. But now, as Sonny looked at that picture of the three of them up there on the TV screen, bigger than life, he knew that just ignoring it wasn't a possibility this time out.

Emily was really missing, and he was really to blame.

Sonny felt a bout of dark laughter pull at his gut. Ric was probably having a field-day. _And why shouldn't he?_ Sonny though savagely. Wasn't this whole mess giving Ric exactly what he'd always wanted: living proof that everything his brother had been spewing and preaching was right? That Sonny did destroy everything he touched, and that no one, not even someone as sweet and caring as Emily was immune to the life he lead?

Sonny sighed and closed his eyes. It was days like this that just giving it all up really sounded like the best thing. For everybody.

"When is Emily gonna come home, Dad?"

The sound of his son's voice rocked Sonny from his reverie, and he quickly switched off the television. Michael didn't need to see any more of that. None of them did. Sonny motioned for Michael to join him on the couch. Looping an arm around him and smiling warmly at his boy, Sonny tried his best to seem confident. "Soon, buddy. Soon."

Sonny watched his son's brow furrow, an unsure sadness shinning in his eyes. "That's what Jason said, but…"

"But what, huh?" Sonny said, giving Michael's arm a squeeze. "Has Jason ever told you something that wasn't true before?"

Michael shook his head, still looking incredibly uncertain. He flicked his gaze to the blank TV screen and then back to his father's face. "I know, but—but what if those people on TV are—"

"But nothing, Michael." Sonny ducked his head and looked earnestly at his son. "I don't want you to pay any attention to what the people on TV say, okay? I want you to have faith in what your momma, Jason, and I tell you. And I want you to keep thinking good thoughts. Up here…"—Sonny touched his fingertip to Michael's forehead—"…and in here…"—and then against his son's heart. "Your Aunty Emily is coming home, Mike. Don't you worry about it."

"Michael!" His wife's voice suddenly filled his study. "Michael, we need to get—oh—there you are." Carly stood framed in the doorway, a tired smile on her face. It seemed the only kind anyone was capable of. "I've been looking all over for you, Mr. Man. What are you doing in here? I told you daddy had some work to do." Carly noted the sullen expression on her son's face, and knowing the exact reason for it, she shot Sonny a regretful look. He was so stressed right now; she hadn't wanted to take the chance that Michael's possible questioning would add to any of it. That was why she'd planned to take him to the brownstone for the day, to give Sonny and his men the space they needed to work, to think.

But, deftly catching her eye, Sonny gave his head a furtive shake, letting his wife know that no harm had been done. He got to his feet, bringing Michael with him. "It's okay," he said, ruffling his son's hair. "Mike and I were just talking."

Venturing forward, Carly crossed her arms. "About what?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Michael's small hands worried at the hem of his tee-shirt as he looked up at his mother with guilty eyes. "I asked dad when Emily was gonna be back," he admitted shyly.

Carly's heart sank for her son. He may not have gotten to see her as much as either would have liked, but the simple fact remained that Michael downright adored his godmother, his 'Aunty Emily'. The kid was crazy about her, and it was a mutual kind of thing. "Oh, baby," Carly cooed, running a soothing hand over her son's back. "Didn't you already have a talk with Jason? Didn't he explain things to you, sweetheart?"

Michael nodded. "I just wanted to be sure, mommy. I really want her to be okay," he said quietly, and then dropped his eyes, kicking idly at the rug with his sneakers. "She was going to take me to the movies this weekend. Just me and her."

Over their son's head, Sonny's eyes met his wife's in a tortured stare. This just kept getting harder and harder. It seemed like there wasn't anything the shockwaves weren't reaching. Everyone Sonny cared about was being hurt in some way by this. Sighing, Sonny drew Michael to his side again. "Remember what I said, buddy. It's gonna be okay. She _is_ coming back."

"That's right," Carly said, nestling against her son's other side, an arm looped around her husband's back. "Jason and Daddy are going to fix this, just like they fix everything." Michael looked up at his mother hopefully and Carly ran a hand over his hair. "Now, I can't tell you when, exactly, but when Emily does come home, I bet she'll be more than happy to take you to that movie, honey. And then you and she can have that day together just like you had planned."

A light flooded Michael's face as he smiled. "Promise?"

Suddenly unsure if this was a good idea or not, Carly locked eyes with her husband again. The tiniest of nods gave her the answer she was looking for. It was about having faith. That was one of the things she learned from loving Sonny. Fate and circumstance had thrown every imaginable obstacle across their path, but here they were, together, raising their son with another child on the way. _That_ was what it came down to in the end, having faith; holding on, no matter what happened. And right now, at times like these, was when having faith counted the most. They had to believe Emily was coming home. Thinking anything less just wasn't acceptable. _Ever_. Too much stood to be lost in going down that path.

Strengthened by the new surge of confidence, Carly looked down at her son and smiled. "We Promise."

-----

Jason walked across the darkened bedroom, his injured arm tucked into a canvas sling. The stiff fabric rubbed against his skin, and for the millionth time since signing out of the hospital AMA, Jason bit back the urge to rip the sling off and fly it out the window. He hated it. And it had little to do with how uncomfortable it was. It was more about what it represented.

Failure. Staggering failure.

And the feeling seemed to throb in his gut and scrape mercilessly at his insides.

He'd been _right there_—Jason glared down at his useless shoulder—and it hadn't made one bit of difference in the end. The image of Emily's limp form (almost close enough to touch) being recklessly shoved into that van seemed burned into his retinas. Eyes closed or open, it was all he could see, playing out as vividly and as it had last night. And it always ended the same way. With the sound of that gunned engine ringing in his ears, and his world blinking out as those bastards took off with Emily, leaving him in a puddle of his own blood and swimming in a truth that made the ache in his gut burn white hot: That for the first time in Jason Morgan's life, he hadn't been able to save his sister. She had been within in his grasp, but yet she'd slipped right through it. He'd failed her. He had failed his sister when she needed him most, just like he promised himself he'd never do again. The desire to hit something was so strong, his palms itched.

As he reached the bed Jason blinked back the anger he felt welling—_now isn't the time for that_—and sat down on the edge, flicking on the lamp before tugging open the drawer to his nightstand.

According to Sonny, the cops had confiscated his piece at the crime scene as evidence, and he had no clue when he'd be getting his prized Desert Eagle back. But it wasn't like he didn't have other guns. His searching fingers made contact with a wooden box under a few random papers. He pulled it out and hoisted it onto his lap, working the latch. His spare gun, a simple but efficient Glock 9, lay neatly inside. Jason slid his fingers over the grips and palmed the automatic in one quick movement. He loaded it—something he found out wasn't the easiest thing to do with a dodgy hand—made sure the safety was on, and set it down on the mattress beside him. With a resigned sigh, Jason was about to replace the empty gun box when the Enforcer froze in place, eyes wide and staring. The only movement was of his chest, rising up and then down shallowly as his heart seemed to seize up mid-beat.

From the bottom of the drawer, where the gun box had been, his baby sister smiled up at him.

It was a photograph, of course. And in a flash almost too quick for human eyes to catch, Jason had discarded the gun box in favor of the photo. It was a candid shot, and in it they were sitting down on a couch in what most would deem an uncharacteristically silly pose for the Enforcer; Emily, beaming from ear to ear, sitting with her legs draped over his lap, trapping him in place, and him, watching her over-the-moon expression with a suppressed grin. It was taken during a trip he took out to Stanford to see her, and even though it was goofy as hell, it was his favorite. But then maybe that was the reason.

The picture had captured Jason Morgan, the loving big brother. Jason Morgan, the brain-damaged thug, the unfeeling criminal, and the social degenerate was nowhere to be found. It was just them, like they almost never had the chance to be anymore. It made him feel good having it close-by, and since he had never been the type to carry photos in his wallet, the nightstand seemed the best place for it, even though Courtney still tried every now and then to persuade him to get it framed, and put downstairs somewhere. She said it was 'so sweet', that it captured them perfectly. And even though his fiancé was completely right, whenever she brought the idea up, Jason always politely waved her off, choosing instead to keep it right where it was. This photo of him and Emily was different, special in a way, like it wasn't meant to be displayed, like it was meant just for them somehow. He honestly didn't know why he felt that way, but he always thought it had something to do with what the photo had captured, beyond the obvious. Hidden behind her shinning grin and his easy half-smile, buried somewhere underneath the glossy, freeze-framed silliness of it, was a simple, uncomplicated moment that embodied everything he loved so much about them. And right now, just looking at it caused the Enforcer's vision to blur.

But a blur was all he would allow now. _Later_, he thought, later, when the moment came where he could see her again, put his arms around her—that was when he'd let himself go, let his control slip. But until that happened, until his sister was safe and home, Jason would do what he always did: push it down and summon forth the machine. It was the only way he'd get through this, that much he was sure of.

With one final look, Jason stood and slipped the picture into his back pocket. He put the empty gun box away and tucked the Glock into the waistband of his jeans.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Caught off guard, but never one to show it, Jason kept his back to his fiancé. He knew why she was up here, knew what she wanted from him, and also knew that he couldn't give it to her. Looking at her, into the pale eyes he loved so much—it was something Jason honestly believed he couldn't risk right now. He wished it could be different. Hell, he wished a lot of things could be different. But thinking that way was pointless. His decision was made. It had been made the second Emily got loaded into that van. As difficult as it would be, leaving was the only way. Courtney would have to understand.

"I thought you were at Sonny's," he said quietly. He had hoped to avoid this, slip away without a confrontation. But then hoping for something very rarely made it a reality. No, in his case, things usually went the other way, the ridiculously messy and complicated way.

"He's meeting with Myer and Stan. Nikolas is there, too." There was a pause, and Jason heard the soft shuffle of her boots against the carpet. She was moving closer. He wished she wouldn't. "Sonny asked me to come and get you. He thinks you should be there for this."

Jason's back pinched briefly at Nikolas' name. He could not, for the life of him, understand why Sonny would let an outsider tag along for something that was so important. He knew Nikolas did, in his own Cassadine way, care about his sister, but this was different. This was about Emily and her _life_, about getting her back. There wasn't time to take pity on some love-sick kid who would only get in the way and eventually trip over his own feet, causing a ripple effect that could end up being disastrous… tragic even. Jason shook his head and cleared the mental uprising before it got out of hand.

Courtney mistook the gesture and stepped even closer, so close he could feel her. "Jason, you need to let Sonny help. He wants to help. Ever since Emily got—" Courtney broke off abruptly and Jason knew why. She was afraid to say it out loud, afraid to put the ugly truth out there… and afraid to let him hear it. He was strangely grateful for that. "He wants her back as much as you do, Jason. Please believe that."

As in the hospital with Carly, he felt those foreign pangs of almost-anger assault him from the inside out. "It's not the same," he said, his jaw tightening all on its own. "Emily isn't his sister."

"Do you think that means he doesn't care?"

Jason sighed. That wasn't what he'd meant. "I know he cares, Courtney. But Sonny has a family and responsibilities. He can't be what Emily needs right now. What she needs is somebody who'd be willing to give up everything to get her back, someone who'd do whatever was necessary." He let his unfocused eyes drift to the lighted cityscape beyond his window, to the broad face of Brighton Terrace, to the dismal black hole that was his sister's apartment. "She needs _me_."

There was a tremble in his voice, one so slight it was almost unnoticeable. But she noticed it, and he knew she would. She always did. Jason closed his eyes as he felt her warm fingertips brush over his back, and then her familiar form press against his as she snaked her arms around his waist, molding herself to him, feeding him love and strength and courage through the thrumming of her pulse. Her warmth seeped into his blood, and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to let it melt away the coldness inside of him, for it to dislodge the painful lump that had taken up residence in his throat. For once, Jason Morgan wanted someone else to make it all okay. The thought alone was enough to rock his mind back on course.

This was exactly why he couldn't let her get close now. He needed the coldness and the pain. He needed it to get him through this, to get Emily through this.

"I have to go," he said suddenly, drawing out of Courtney's embrace and toward the door.

Before he could get too far, she grabbed hold of his good arm. And for the fist time since the hospital, Jason looked at her. Her eyes were wet and glassy; tears had painted tracks down her worried face. There was a silent plea in her eyes that wrenched at him. "Jason, your shoulder…"

"Will be okay," he finished for her, forcing his voice to be even.

Courtney shook her head. "You don't know that."

"No. No, I don't," he whispered. "But I don't know what else to say." He wished so much he could be better at this sort of thing. He saw how the honesty hurt her, but it was all he knew, all he could give her.

She released his arm and drew further into his shadow, their bodies only a breath apart, the distance seeming more like miles than inches. "Say that you'll be careful," she said brokenly in that voice she used when she was trying so hard to be brave, fighting so fiercely to keep it all from falling apart. "Say that you'll come home, Jason."

Again, honesty was all he could give her, no matter how much hurt. "I can't promise you that. I wish that I could." Jason watched as her beautiful face crumpled and that was all he could take. He reached out, an unfamiliar urgency filling him, and placed a hand on her face, making her look at his. He needed her to see how much she meant to him, that he was sorry he was hurting her. "I love you," he said with an intensity that made Courtney shiver. "And I know that you want me to stay back while Sonny and Nikolas look for her, but that isn't going to happen." Jason's pale blue eyes glimmered with contradictions. Hard and determined, but soft and loving, a tortured reflection of the storm raging on inside of him. "And I don't expect you to understand what I'm feeling. I don't even really get it. All I know is that my little sister is out there somewhere and that I can't stop going until I get her back. I can't let them hurt her, Courtney. I cannot do that."

Once again Courtney was faced with a plea too big too ignore, too heartbreaking to deny. Part of the reason she'd fallen in love with him was because of the way he cared. There was a fire to it, a fierce devotion that never wavered. If you were one of the few people who mattered to Jason Morgan, if he loved you, then there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for you. They all had benefited and continued to benefit from that love, from the strength and the ease of mind it gave them.

And now it was Emily's turn.

She was in trouble, and as Courtney looked into her fiancé's eyes, she knew there wouldn't be a thing she could ever say—or do—that would make him stay tonight. It would hurt her. It would hurt him. But he would do it because that was the kind of man he was. His little sister was gone, and he'd willingly march straight into Hell to get her back.

And there was good chance that was exactly what he'd end up doing.

-----

Twelve hours. That was how long it had been since Alcazar had left her to 'get situated'. What a joke, she thought. Why did he insist on trying to glitz up what was really going on here? Why did he have to sterilize what he'd done to her?

He was a kidnapper, and he was using her as a tool against Sonny. She really didn't think there was anything particularly challenging about vocalizing that fact. After all, the guy was a seasoned baddy, surely telling it like it was couldn't be _such_ a difficult thing to manage.

Emily sighed from her spot on the balcony floor, her gaze sweeping the majestic landscape that curved and meandered here and there. This whole place seemed to fit the theme of dressing things up, and it made her head spin. This whole process had been different with Zander. He'd been afraid, he'd been acting out of desperation, which to some extent she assumed Alcazar was as well—one didn't tend to jump straight to the felony activities if desperation wasn't at least a tiny factor. But on the whole, Emily could concede quite easily that she was officially sailing in unfamiliar waters. Being _this_ kind of kidnapped felt horribly beyond her, and not at all like something she could pull off. She knew she wanted to seem—to _be_—strong, but in their last conversation, she couldn't help but feel that she had failed, and miserably at that.

Sure, she'd hurled a priceless vase against a wall and yelled and demanded to be sent home, but had that really been anything more than a temper tantrum? What would come later, after, as things progressed, was what really worried her. Would she be able to handle interacting with someone as disarming as Alcazar on a regular basis? Would she be able to maintain her defiance without compromising herself? Emily closed her eyes and rested her head against the railing. She didn't know how to do this. There was so much more at stake this time, and it was all so precarious, so tenuous, that giving into her fear—though horribly weak in her eyes—didn't seem that unfathomable. And she was afraid. Massively so. A fact that would never reach another human's ears, not as long as she lived.

And there was another problem. Her living. She'd been so confident earlier that her life was secure, that when some resolution was reached, she'd be returned to the people that loved her, safe and sound. But that had been before she learnt about Jason and Johnny. Seeing that ugly bloodstain on the pavement, listening to that bleached disaster utter words like "violent", "suffering", and "wounds"… it had yanked the rug out from under her pretty efficiently. Suddenly she couldn't be sure of anything anymore. If Alcazar was willing to try and kill to get her, maybe he wouldn't be so opposed to using it again if he didn't get what he wanted from Sonny.

Slitting open her eyes, Emily traced the carved stone pattern of the banister with a finger. This place was a veritable palace, so pristine and opulent that it made the Quartermaine mansion look like a room above Kelly's. This was what she meant about things being dressed up. All this lavishness seemed to put an acceptable face on what was going on, made it seem like blackmail, kidnapping, shootings, and murder were the farthest things from possible. And it was the same thing with Alcazar himself. His fine tailored suit, his brooding eyes, the even timbre of his voice, and his confident smile—all those things made him seem harmless. Well, maybe not harmless, but certainly not someone who would murder an innocent girl just because a business deal went south. But then that had been an assessment she'd made _prior_ to the shooting. After that, everything changed in her head, and Emily knew that—if she had any interest at all in surviving this—she couldn't buy into the illusions of civility that both Lorenzo _and_ this place projected. Jason, her savior, was hurt, and Emily couldn't rely on him to swoop in and save the day this time. No, this… well, this one seemed to be up to her. And that was scary as hell.

"I see you've gotten settled."

The voice, accented and deeply unfamiliar, startled Emily; she surged to her feet and shot the newcomer—a dark complexioned man with raven-colored hair—an accusatory glare. He was standing in the doorway to the veranda and it bothered her to think he'd been that close and she hadn't noticed. That wasn't a good way to go about keeping her guard up. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, eyes narrowed and fierce. She may not have known where the line was in this place, but the one thing she couldn't ever do was appear weak. She'd rather die.

Miguel laughed, and then clucked his tongue chidingly. "Manners, my dear," he purred in a sickeningly confident voice; its silky resonance sent involuntary shivers up Emily's bare arms. "You may be our… _guest_, but I see no reason why we shouldn't still observe certain social graces. It will make things go so much easier."

He was smiling, broad and wholly unsettling. Emily fought hard against the fear she felt stirring in her blood. Fear _was_ acceptable, she told herself, but showing it wasn't. It was an invitation to be screwed with, and that was the last thing she wanted. Straitening, Emily drew her chin up and forced herself to keep gaze with the man in front of her. "I'll tell you what you can do with your social graces, pal," she snapped, arms already crossing over her chest in that 'I-dare-you' pose she'd witnessed Jason use a million times before. "I'm in no mood to play nice with any of your freaks, got it?"

As soon as the words were out, Emily wished very deeply that she could snatch them back; she watched something truly horrible flicker in the man's unearthly, amber eyes as a feral grin slid onto his face.

His voice was devoid of mocking now; it was quiet and deadly. "I hope you realize, Ms. Quartermaine, that for everything in this world, there is an easy way…" He stepped toward her, invading her personal space, his striking handsomeness only managing to make him all the more frightening. "…and a _not_ so easy way. I suggest you choose now which path you will follow during your stay with us. And if I were you, I would choose very, _very_ carefully."

His face was a mere few inches from her now and only getting closer. And for one ridiculous, _revolting_ moment, Emily thought he was going to kiss her, but then his too-near face shifted to the left. With a shudder of fear and disgust, she felt his warm breath beat against the side of her face. "Because it could quite possibly be the last choice you ever make."

"Miguel, that's enough."

Emily jumped back at the commanding baritone, turning toward it. She sighed in relief—wait, _relief?_—when she saw Lorenzo's form in the doorway. He didn't look very happy.

Miguel stepped back from her, his grin never faltering and—much to Emily's dislike—he kept his eyes on her as he spoke. "Come now, Lorenzo, I was just welcoming the girl."

"You were threatening her, and you should see that it never happens again." Lorenzo's remark drew Miguel's full attention and caused Miguel's smirk to falter, his eyes to harden, and his posture to stiffen roughly.

Emily watched as a silent battle ragged between the two men, and she wondered what the hell it was all about. Lorenzo's face was set and very clearly pissed-off, but Miguel… well, he was a different story. He wore a more ambiguous expression, an odd mixture of brazen defiance that was somehow tempered, but not willingly. Whatever it was, Emily decided she didn't like it at all. And she didn't seem to be the only one.

"I think you should go now, Miguel."

"I'm here for a reason and you know it."

"That matter can be handled later."

Emily saw the muscles in Miguel's jaw tense dangerously. "We have a phone call to make, Lorenzo. And it _cannot_ be handled later."

"Yes, it can."

By this time there was nothing ambiguous about Miguel's expression. The man was furious. "That is not something that I would advi—"

"Leave."

It was one word, but it was spoken in a way in which Emily was familiar. With absolution. She'd heard Sonny use it before, and, as she had expected, Miguel, seething but controlled, obeyed the command much as she'd seen her brother do. Immediately and with minimal opposition. The similarity grated something in her, and she wasn't sure why.

Her chamber door shut with a resounding slam and it took quite a lot of effort not to flinch, but she succeeded. She didn't even spare the room's other occupant a glance before she turned her back on him and resumed her study of the sprawling grounds off the balcony. With tensing shoulders Emily heard him move closer and come to stand behind her. He didn't speak, and the silence that fell over them began to feel a bit expectant to Emily, like he was waiting for something from her. Mentally, Emily groaned, realization dawning on her.

_If he wants a thank you, he'll be waiting a pretty long time_, Emily though furiously. _Because I'd rather eat a palm leaf than utter those words to anyone in this godforsaken place, especially him._

When it became painfully obvious that Emily wasn't going to say _anything_ to him at all, Lorenzo broke the quiet. "I'm sorry about that. Miguel has a tendency to get rather carried away sometimes."

Emily only laughed. Well, to be honest it was more a snort. A derisive snort.

Narrowing his eyes at the back of her head, Lorenzo cursed her attitude, and then immediately felt foolish. What the hell had he expected from her? Of course she would laugh at his apology. She was being held against her will. She detested him, not that he blamed her… Abruptly, he shook his head to clear the cobwebs. It was entirely too easy to get off track with this girl. "He's…" Lorenzo voiced tapered off as he tried to find a suitable way of further explaining his friend.

"Insane?" Emily offered.

He ignored that. "He's Miguel," he finished resolutely. "There really isn't proper way to explain, I suppose. But please trust me when I say he isn't always so… abrasive."

"Abrasive?" Emily snapped, finally turning around to face Lorenzo. "He came in here with the expressed purpose of frightening me. He made a threat on my _life_; I don't think 'abrasive' even begins to cover it."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, his voice lowered to a calming rumble as he took special care to look directly at her. "I'll see to it he never bothers you again."

She stared at him for a long time and Lorenzo got the distinct impression that he was being evaluated, tested. Then she suddenly switched gears, her eyes becoming iced over pools of brown. Whatever had transpired between them in that instant, however brief, however ambiguous, was extinguished with a single flicker of her lashes.

"Yeah, you do that." And then she turned her back on him again.

When Gina Lynn O'Brien was nine years old, her father was killed on the job. The papers had deemed it a 'drug bust gone wrong', and for what seemed like a small eternity, her neighborhood, tucked safely away within the Bronx Borough of New York City, grieved for the man she called Daddy, the hero cop that died trying to make the world a better place. Immediately following his passing, she was fed stories about him, recounting how wonderful and incredible, how brave and strong and good he was. They, her father's family and friends, had deified him to her, took the simple, honest, good-natured man that had actually been, and made him into a tall-walking, badge-wearing superhero.

But as Gina got older, she realized—with some immense disappointment—that the stories and the legends surrounding the great James O'Brien were just that: stories. Yes, some of them were accurate, but the vast majority of them were embroidered truths passed around to help ease the pain of losing him. The _real man_ was one Gina could barely remember. And the little details of who he _actually_ had been were old and faded now, just like the pictures sitting on the mantel at her and Johnny's apartment. In her heart, she knew her father was all those things people told her he was, but in her soul she longed to remember more than the legend. She wanted to remember the way he smiled, the way he held his fork at dinner, the way his cheeks dimpled when he laughed, the way it felt to be wrapped up in her father's arms. But as the years passed, with them went a bit more of him, the light of his face dimming in shades as it slowly disappeared into the murkiness of her memories from that time. It was a hard thing to deal with, forgetting someone you were sure you once loved with everything you had, having them fade away bit by bit, and not being able to stop it.

But, again, she'd lost him so very long ago, and during a time that most people forget anyhow. Time and nature had dulled the ache, and she supposed she was grateful for that. It didn't sting as much as it once did, didn't burn a path of haggard grief down her chest when those memories she _did_ still have drifted back.

But she knew it wasn't just because a solid six years had passed or because she was so little when everything became so broken. No, she definitely knew the real reason behind the healing she'd been allowed to do.

And she knew this because he was lying in front of her now, in a crisp-sheeted hospital bed, more tubes than she cared to count hooking him up to machines that were as cold and unforgiving as the room encasing them.

Gina shivered as she crept toward the bed, her sneakers squeaking crudely against the scrubbed tile floor. She stopped abruptly, scared stiff that the noise had been too harsh, too jarring against the starkness of his room. Gina blinked and looked up, hazarding a glance at her surroundings. The room. That was something else—beside the obvious—that unnerved her so much right now. She had seen the inside of a hospital more times than she cared to admit within the timeframe of her fifteen years, but that experience did nothing to mute her aversion to being here. In fact, it seemed to intensify it. She hated hospitals, detested the smell, the suffocating cleanliness of it, the way blinding white plastered over everything, serving as some really pointless way of trying to make what went on inside of them neat and presentable. Yeah, people got saved here. But people also died here. And the latter had favored the O'Brien family the last two out of three times.

Gina didn't much like those odds.

With a sigh, she forced herself mobile again. She couldn't act like a jerk now, couldn't clam up and run away. Because though he'd only ever said it a handful of times, Johnny needed her as much as she needed him. And that happened to be pretty damn much.

Coming to stand at his bedside, Gina's eyes roved over her brother with a sort of desperate anguish that would always be silent. She wasn't vocal like that, never broadcasted what she felt for the whole world to see. Because they simply didn't need to see it. What she felt was hers and hers alone. And what she felt right now was a swirl of hate, dampened by shame.

She wasn't a stupid girl. She was observant, perceptive—whatever you wanted to call it. Gina knew what her brother did for a living. She had no illusions as to what kept a better than decent roof over their heads, brand-new Pumas on her feet, a state-of-the-art laptop on her desk, and all the CDs she could listen to spinning faithfully in her stereo at home. He was in the Mob. And it had benefited them very well—up until now. Now it had almost taken him away from her, and now, as she swept a lock of hair off his forehead with a gentleness Johnny often likened to their long departed mother, Gina felt herself longing for that old, fourth floor walk-up they'd all shared before the world went to Hell. Before she'd ever heard the names Sonny Corinthos or Jason Morgan.

And that was where the shame came in. Sonny had given them everything, took a chance on her brother when he was nothing but a messed up punk who suddenly had one extra mouth to feed. Sonny had allowed Johnny the chance to be a better man, to be a better brother. To just be _better_. And she felt ugly inside for condemning someone who had essentially been their only reason for survival. Because, in all honesty, where the hell would they have been if Sonny Corinthos hadn't come into their lives?

_Not in the hospital, for starters…_

The annoying little voice sniped somewhere in the back of her mind, and Gina rattled her head around just a bit, maybe hoping to shake it loose somehow. Focusing her pain on Sonny, tracing her anguish back that far, she decided, was a pointless endeavor. Exactly what would it accomplish? Right. Nothing at all. Her brother would still be shot and she'd still be here, sitting vigil at his bedside, trying desperately to stave off the fear she felt curling in her belly, fear that would never completely go away. No matter what those damn doctors told her.

With another heavy sigh, Gina settled her thin frame into a passably comfortable chair. She scooted it as close as it would go and rested her head on a spot of mattress next to her brother's hand. She was so tired but she didn't want to go sleep, didn't want to give into its pull, even as her blinks became longer, as the reassuring image of her brother's fingers blurred from behind her long, dark lashes.

But the youngest O'Brien didn't have to fight sleep for long. Soon the decision was made for her; the creek of the door jolted her upright, eyes bolting to the source.

It was Jason Morgan.

"Oh—I'm sorry," he said in that quiet voice he always used with her. "I didn't mean to bother you. I'll come back later."

Gina watched him move backward through the door, but—for some reason that wasn't entirely clear to her—she called out and stopped him. "No—wait," she said. "It's okay. You're not bothering me." Her Bronx accent, though watered-down after all these years away, still shimmered among her words.

Jason pulled forward again, hesitance still more than obvious. "You were sleeping."

She shook her head and gave a ghost of a smile. He had always been so straightforward. She liked that. It was refreshing somehow. "I was fighting it," she admitted with a shrug. "You actually helped me out." A beat passed and Gina suddenly found her wits slamming back to her. _Jason_ was here. That meant Business. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about that one, but she spoke up nonetheless. "Uh—the nurse said he'll be waking up again soon." She gestured to her brother. "If you need to talk to him, I mean."

"Well…" His ice-blue eyes lingered on her a moment and then over to Johnny. He seemed to be between something, trying to make up his mind, and Gina noticed something a little different about the way he looked at her, like he was forcing himself to almost. But then her brother's boss gave his head a tiny shake as he retrained his focus on her, all former weirdness gone. "No, that's okay. We already talked when he woke up earlier. I was just coming by to see if he was doing all right."

Gina nodded and drifted her gaze to his left arm, to the sling that supported it. "I think that question could apply to you, too," she remarked, pocketing her hands. "How's the shoulder?"

For the tiniest second, Gina thought he looked surprised, but in a flash it was gone, impassiveness firmly in place again. "I'll manage."

"I'm sure you will," she said with a nod. It wasn't short or clipped, harsh or condescending. It was just the truth. "So, um…" Gina drifted her gaze lazily back to her brother, reaching out to smooth a wrinkle in his sheet. "Are you gonna wait or do you want me to tell him you were here?" Even as she asked it, a weight settled on her chest as she waited for an answer. She didn't want Jason and Sonny or anybody else hanging around here now. They may have owed them a lot, but in her opinion, her brother had given the Organization more than enough for one day. The only thing he needed to concern himself with now was resting and getting better.

She watched with trepidation as Jason cast his watch a glance. "I can't stay," he said. "I have somewhere I need to be."

And Gina felt the weight subside. _Thank God_. "So, I should let him know you dropped by, then?" she asked, deftly training the satisfaction she felt out of her voice.

He shook his head. "No, that's okay. I'll call later." After those words were said, she expected him to leave. But he didn't. Instead, Gina noticed a shift in Jason's eyes, a melting almost. He ventured forward a few steps and Gina felt mildly taken aback by the earnestness his gaze held. _No wonder half the chicks in town are gaga over this guy._ There was something honest and so damn powerful humming just under his statue-like exterior, something that contradicted—almost hysterically—the image of a cold, calculated killer all the goody-two-shoes, holier-than-thou types of this town wanted everyone to think he was. But those idiots had never seen this side of Jason Morgan before, and she knew they never would. That was something sacred that he shared with only a chosen few. And maybe that was why it felt a little unnerving to have it focused on her now, since she'd rarely even _talked_ to the guy before today. But then her brother had never been hanging onto life by a tattered thread before today, so she guessed it sort of balanced out.

"I'm sorry that he got hurt," he said, and she had absolutely no doubt that he meant it, and meant it with everything in him.

See, she could have been bitter here, acted her age and lashed out, told him exactly what he could do with that heartfelt apology of his.

Gina blinked and narrowed her eyes upon him thoughtfully.

_Oh, what the hell_, she thought. She'd never acted her age before. Why start now? She sighed and raked a hand through her auburn hair. "Don't be. It wasn't your fault."

She could tell that didn't quite do it for him; in his eyes there was still a need to press it further. She suppressed the urge to sigh again. She was honestly trying here. Why couldn't the guy just _work_ with her? Nod and walk away. That was all she wanted.

"Yes it is," he said heavily. "It happened while he was guarding my sister." He paused and took a deep breath, and Gina felt reality settle over her for the, like, the millionth time that day. Her brother may have been in pretty bad shape, but at least she still had him with her. Jason wasn't nearly as lucky.

Looking at him, at the just barely visible sadness she saw gripping him, Gina felt something in her relent, soften. She had to remember that she wasn't the only one dealing right now. Wasn't the only one hurting. She lowered her eyes, suddenly more tired than she'd been in a long while. _Goddamn_, being mature really blew. "Look, it's his job," she said with a sigh. "He knows the risks. We both do. So, please don't start saying you're sorry again. It's nice and all, but it really don't mean anything. You didn't do this, Jason. And as bad as it all turned out, I know for a fact that Johnny would tell you the same exact thing. If anything he'd be the one apologizing to you."

She wouldn't have called it a smile, more a tiny, tiny quirk of his lip. "He already did," he affirmed. "It was the fist thing he said when he woke up."

Gina's mouth curled slightly at how well she knew her brother. "See? It's settled then. You got nothing to feel bad about. I mean, just a few hours ago, he was going on and on about how he was gonna to do everything he could to find your sister and get the assholes who took her, that he was gonna make this right for you and for her. You see, in my opinion, Johnny's guilty enough for the both of you. So, don't waste your energy on it." She made sure to look at him as she said her next words, knowing full well that her tone was anything but respectful, but not really caring. As she figured, she was kind of allowed right now. "You definitely got more productive things to use it on."

For a long moment, Jason just looked at her, no doubt wondering how in the hell a fifteen-year-old got to be such a brutal realist. _Life_, she laughed to herself. Life seemed pretty damn intent on teaching her just how _real_ it could be. Repeatedly.

"I have to go," he announced softly, breaking the oddly charged silence that had fallen over them.

He was one foot out the door when—

"For what it's worth, I really do hope you get her back." The sentence shot out of her mouth so quickly, Gina half wondered where it had come from, and silently prayed she hadn't overstepped some boundary. She knew it was a reckless thing to throw out there, but she hadn't been able to help it. She knew his pain, at least to some extent, and she wanted to let him know that.

Jason turned around and blinked at her. And then he did something that caught her utterly off guard. He smiled. It was damn near invisible, but it was there, and she figured that had to count for something.

Returning it in kind, Gina watched as he nodded his goodbye and slipped out of the room.

-----

Quite simply stated, Miguel was _angry_. Why, _why_ was Lorenzo doing this? Not only was he being nice to the girl, he was putting off the ransom call.

That was right; it had been a whole twelve hours and still _nothing_ had been done to move along the process. Not a single hint had been thrown Corinthos' way and that fact aggravated Miguel to no end.

Wasn't their goal to gain usage of the PC ports? Was that not the whole point of this mess? So, why then, did he insist on dragging out this game? Lorenzo was, in Miguel's opinion, only prolonging their wait for a payoff, putting more time between them and the collection of their spoils.

Where was the sense in that?

But it was the answer to that question that bothered Miguel the most. There _was_ no sense in it. Only foolishness. Foolishness and a misguided attachment he prayed to God was only a figment of his imagination. Miguel heaved a sigh. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to stand behind Lorenzo here. If he didn't move on this… well, then Miguel supposed her would just have to move for him.

Turning a corner, Miguel caught sight of who he'd been searching for. Pedro.

"Over here," Miguel motioned to the guard, who promptly crossed the hallway and over to where Miguel stood, in a shadowy alcove beside a massive, curved staircase. "I have a job for you." The guard nodded obediently as Miguel went on. "I'm due back in Port Charles by morning. If by the time I leave, Lorenzo still hasn't made the demand call to Corinthos, I want you to watch him."

The guard's eyes popped, obviously taken by surprise. "You want me to spy on Mr. Alcazar?"

Miguel nodded. "I think Lorenzo could be dangerously close to compromising the operation. I could be wrong. I _hope_ I'm wrong, but if I'm not, I need you to do this. You'll have to be discreet, Pedro. I want you to watch him like a hawk. Him _and_ the girl, and then report back to me everything you see. And I do mean _everything_. Can you handle that?"

There was a moment of hesitation, but, thankfully, only a moment. "Of course, Miguel, anything you need."

Deep down, Miguel detested what he was doing. It was the ultimate show of betrayal, losing faith in one's friend, in his ability to make sound decisions. But he refused to let the guilt stir for long. This wasn't about friendship this time; it was about their business and the betterment of it. And for _that…_ for that Miguel would cross any line he came to.

-----

**_TBC_**…


	11. What Light through Yonder Window Breaks

**(a/n) **Hey! Guess what, guys? There is _major_ NEm-ness in this chapter!!! Oh, I _had_ to do it. I just miss my couple SO MUCH. So much, in fact, that I've been going back and reading some old-school transcripts—I'm talking original fab4 here, people. [sighs] It just totally reaffirmed my belief that NEm has to, _has to _end up together. It's friggin' fated!! Even if I was left slightly reeling by that _Luckily_ kiss. O.o Anyway, this chapter is really, _really_ long. Once its length started to get away from me I intended to break it into 2 pieces, but, well, I got lazy and said screw it, lol. So yeah, the chapter is freaking _huge_, covers lots and lots of ground and I'm actually pretty happy with it. Shocking, isn't it? lol

Oh, and Nikolas has a flashback in this chapter, but the take-off (after it ends) is kinda funky. See, it's told from Nikolas' perspective, but once it's over I pick up in the present with _Lucky_, who has been observing his brother during the flashback. Confusing enough for you? I hope not, lol. And if you're wondering why I did it that way--Don't ask me. It just kinda… happened, and, well, I was too lazy to change it, lol. And please excuse the chapter title—it was my attempt—stress on attempt—to be clever. It probably only succeeded in being obscure, lol.

Oh, and slight language warning below for potty-mouthed cops. :o)

So, seeing as though this is another epic installment, I'll let you guys off easy here so you can get to it. Bye! --Loke

**To my wonderful reviewers: Bethany Christine, alleycat **(Whoohooo! Another 3rd Watcher!! And I yelped in glee when Kim said those two awesome words! Well, I do have one TW fic up but it seems to have died a slow, painful death due to my horrendous lack of motivation, lol. I'll probably try my hand at a new one soon, though.)**, Tamara, Marian **(Don't ever apologize for giving long winded reviews! It's like Christmas or something when I get them, lol.)**, Teakie, Cindy Ryan, and Ally37—**thank you all so, so much for reviewing, and for being so faithful about it! I deeply appreciate the time you all took to let me know how I was doing. As always, you guys rock! :o) Loke hugs

And now, without further ado…****

**Somewhere In Between**

**------------------------------------**

**Chapter Eleven: What Light through Yonder Window Breaks**

**------------------------------------ **

Sonny and the usual suspects were all gathered around Sonny's dinning table, joined by more than a few decidedly new faces—new to _this_, anyhow—engaged in what Sonny could only think was the most bizarre meeting he'd ever taken. His dark, contemplative eyes roved over the cast of characters seated around him, settling lastly on the attentive pair of brooding Cassadine and scruffy-headed Spencer. Truthfully, their presence bothered him. See, by nature Sonny was a private man and this including of Emily's closest friends—kids, by most standards—was just not something he was used to doing, opening up the inner sanctum and all. But Sonny figured that the intrusion—and it was definitely an intrusion—would be well worth it if it got them Emily back, and took some of the weight off Jason. And Sonny wouldn't readily admit it to anyone, but he was truly worried about his friend. Maybe if he got enough people working on this, Jason wouldn't feel so compelled to take off half-cocked.

Sonny smothered a laugh. Yeah, _right_.

"…As far as I can tell Alcazar left town yesterday afternoon, late." The voice, gruff in nature and bearing a deep Brooklyn accent, belonged to Andrew Venetti; an underboss with the Venetti Syndicate, and one time childhood friend of Sonny's. Their relationship, business wise and personal, had always been more than amicable, and it was because of this that Sonny had no problem trusting the older man, with calling on his offering of 'any time, any place'. Bringing him into the fold had been an anticipatory move on Sonny's part. They needed most—if not all—hands on deck for this one. And Sonny had a feeling—an irksomely certain one—that his search for Emily was going to be a man short. And that was where good old Andy-V came in. He wasn't Jason, nobody was, but he'd do in a pinch.

Leaning forward on the glass, Sonny drew his hands together, fingers pointed in a steeple pressed to his lips. His head was down, but he was definitely listening, every word Andy-V uttered flowing systematically through his mind.

"…Now," the finely-suited man continued, running a calloused hand over his bearded face. "Me and Stan the Man over here been doing some digging, and after busting nearly every head in this town, we finally got somethin'." Andy squinted in Sonny's direction as he tossed a manila folder onto the table. It skidded across the glass and came to smooth stop right under Sonny's nose. "It ain't nuthin' to piss your pants over, but it's a start. A decent one, too."

Sonny eyed the folder questioningly. "What is this?"

"That, my friend, is the result of some very impressive terroristic threatening. Its proof, in black and white, that your guy Morgan's got some serious 'Spidey Sense' type shit running through his veins."

Sonny heaved an irritated sigh. Good as he was, Andy embodied every bad _Sopranos_ stereo type of the Italian-American Mob world out there, and did it proudly. He could get a little swept up in the slick-talking, goomba aspect of things. "English, Andy."

With a good-natured grimace, Andy-V shook his head, looking unmistakably disappointed. "_Goddamn_, Corinthos, do I stutter? I'm _saying_ what's in that folder pins the tail right on the Jackass—of the Venezuelan variety." Andy urged Sonny on with a nod. "But don't take my word for it, Chief, have a gander."

Sonny flipped open the folder and was instantly assaulted by official looking documents—documents he honestly didn't have the patience to sort through right now. This was why he had people like Andy, Stan, and Myer, so he wouldn't have to _'have a gander'_. Sonny closed it and looked pointedly at Andy. "Just sum it up for me, Andy. Short and Sweet. Can we tag Alcazar to this or not?"

"Oh, that's big 10-4, buddy. Alcazar is knee-deep in this thing. I can feel it," Andy said, crossing his massive arms over his eternally puffed-out chest. "Those files you don't want to look through are the only loose end Alcazar couldn't tie up. Flight plans. Two squeaky clean and one conflicting—otherwise known as our pay dirt."

"How can a flight plan be conflicting?"

"When it's bullshit." Andy smiled broadly at Sonny's raised eyebrow. "Yes. As in _fake_. This Alcazar cat had his crew file a set of plans that had him touching town at Miami International at—oh, I don't know—roughly 4:30pm yesterday, and then rounding back here to PC only three hours later. Now, _those_ sets panned out. But set number three—" Andy leaned forward and took back the manila folder. He opened it and scanned the contents quickly. "—now, _that_ set had Alcazar's same jet that returned from Miami taking off from the Port Charles airport just before 2am, bound yet again for Miami."

Sonny narrowed his eyes in thought. "Emily was scooped just after 1am. That would fit the timeline."

"Like a glove, brother—according to the info you gave me, anyway." The burly Brooklynite let loose a weary sigh and drew out a chair for himself, addressing each rapt tablemate with a grave look. "But here's where things get mucky, boys. The plane definitely took off, but it never showed up in Miami, and we don't have a clue where it went to—as yet."

"Wait—" It was the concerned and somewhat incredulous voice of Lucky Spencer that broke into the conversation. He was looking directly at the intimidating, older Venetti unflinchingly. "Are you telling me that in this day and age—with all the new security measures this country's swimming in post 9-11—that someone could file a phony flight plan for a _Lear_, and then just… _disappear_? What happened to all that high-tech radar and sophisticated tracking tools we're always hearing about? You're not supposed to be able to get away with that kind of stuff anymore."

Andy-V regarded the young Spencer carefully. "You're Luke's kid, aren't you?"

Lucky blinked and then nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed, reaching his hand across the table and allowing it to be engulfed by Venetti's bear-like one. "Name's Lucky." He jerked his head in Nikolas' direction. "This is my brother. Nikolas."

Andy's face gained a suspicious tilt as he anchored his gaze on Nikolas. "I didn't know Luke had two boys."

"He doesn't," Lucky and Nikolas said together, their demeanors as no-nonsense as it could get. As far as the brothers were concerned, they weren't here to dish about their family's torrid past. They were her to find Emily. Case closed.

But, as was to be expected, the brothers' denial only fanned the flames. "You're not a Spencer?" he asked Nikolas.

Sonny could plainly see the irritation bubbling in Nikolas and Lucky's eyes, and he had to admit—he was right there with them. Andy, for as efficient as he was, had a way of getting easily distracted when it came to certain things. Like being nosy. "He's Laura's boy, Andy," Sonny said, waving a hand as if to dismiss the matter completely. "Forget about the Spencer family history lesson and answer Lucky's question. How the hell can a jet just vanish nowadays?"

Successfully pulled back to the nuts and bolts of things, Andy leaned back in his chair. "How do you get anything done that you're not supposed to be able to? Money. Filing bogus plans is a tad trickier than it used to be a few years ago. Ever since 9-11 those air traffic controllers watch for major deviations in plans like their lives depend on it. But, just like anything else, if you grease the right guy's wheels anything's possible, I guess, even getting it so a tweaked out Lear jet can completely miss it's destination. Plus its Port Charles to Miami at two o'clock in the morning, Sonny, it ain't exactly like watching airspace over the capital. Stuff's a little easier to let slide, ya know?"

"Okay," Nikolas started, looking between Venetti and Sonny. "So, I get _how_ it could happen, but how does that help us? What you're basically saying is that he could have Emily anywhere on the planet. I don't know about everyone else, but I don't find that to be particularly comforting information."

Andy shot Nikolas a hard look. "Hey, Not-a-Spencer, didn't you just hear me say things were mucky? You're girlfriend was kidnapped by a drug lord who's paper trail's just turned to dust. Of course it's not comforting, but it doesn't make it any less true."

Nikolas glared back at him. "First of all, my name is _Nikolas_, and secondly…" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, earning a raised brow from Venetti. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Could've fooled me," Andy mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

Andy smothered a smile. "Nothing, kid." But Nikolas didn't seem pacified, and Sonny registered a small jolt of surprise when he saw Andy's face soften perceptibly as he continued to hold Nikolas' gaze. "Look, alls I'm saying is that at least we know whose backyard to go diggin' in now. _That_ you can take comfort in." Andy looked at Sonny. "And I really got a feeling about this, man; Alcazar is it all the way. With all that activity around the time of the girl's abduction, the phony flight plans, _and_ his past history with you, I'm thinking this is a lock, Sonny. Now all we have to do is figure out where in the hell that plane ended up. We find _that_—we find the girl."

"Is that even something we can do?" Sonny asked, suddenly skeptical. "This isn't like shaking down some lowlife on the docks for information, Andy; this bleeds over into the federal domain here, official type shit. We may need to be realistic about our limitations."

Venetti righted his posture again, back stick-straight and an aura of pure seriousness temporarily staving off his Mafia mystique. "Between your men and my crew, we ain't got many. Limitations, that is. Trust me, Sonny, it may take a little while—a few days even—but we'll find where Alcazar's jet touched down. Somewhere there are radar records of his flight—there has to be—and we're gonna find them. I'm not gonna let you, Morgan, and that girl just wait for the axe to fall. Not while it's within my power to stop this mess before Alcazar gets demand happy." Andy shifted his gaze, trapping both Lucky and Nikolas within the intense stare. "This will happen, guys. She will come home. On the Venetti family name, that is my promise to you."

Just then the door to the penthouse creaked open and Sonny saw his sister emerge sullenly from the hall. He stood and met her halfway.

"Hey." Sonny greeted Courtney with a pulled together brow. "What's wrong?" He glanced behind her. "Where's Jason?"

She lifted her head, but there was an odd timidity to it. "He's gone."

"Gone?" Sonny narrowed his eyes on her; Courtney shifted under her brother's intense stare. "Courtney, I told you to bring him here. How could you let him just take off?"

"What was I supposed to do, Sonny? Hit him over the head? Huh? Tie him to a chair maybe?" He could see an angry blush crawling to her cheeks and Sonny felt a pang of guilt rush through him. This wasn't her fault. He had to stop lashing out at her.

Softening, he stepped closer, settling a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hey, look, I know. If Jason was going, he was going. There was nothing you could have done."

Closing her eyes, Courtney sighed heavily, her brother's sudden gentleness clearly easing her, at least somewhat. "There's something else," she said wearily, meeting his eyes once more. "He took his spare gun with him."

Sonny's hand dropped abruptly from her shoulder and his head went next. "Son of a bitch." But the angry whisper didn't do Sonny's true feelings much justice at all. Jason, an injured and freshly operated on Jason, taking off after his snatched sister all by himself was about the worst thing that could have happened right then. There was no telling what damage he could do, and that didn't even include to himself.

"Where was he going?" he asked his sister.

Courtney shrugged. "He didn't say exactly, but he did mention Johnny just before he left, so he could be on his way to the hospital." The worried blonde shook her head. "But, Sonny, after that—"

"After that it won't matter," Sonny finished for. He turned sharply to the table of men. "Meeting's over for now. We'll reconvene later." He nodded his thanks to Andy. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd ever done to deserve such loyalty, but what Sonny did know was that he would be eternally grateful for both it and Andy. "I really appreciate everything you're doing here, Andy. I won't forget it." The older man inclined his head solemnly and Sonny made for the door. He had his hand on the knob when—

"Wait," Nikolas and Lucky protested together, coming out of their seats; Sonny rounded on the objection. "We can't just leave things like this," Nikolas went on, grave faced. "There are still things that need to be looked over. I'm sure Jason can manage—"

Sonny cut Nikolas off with a glare. "You don't get to make that call, I do. And right now I say that this meeting is done until I call you all back. Besides, Andy and Stan have hit a wall anyway. This will give them some time to find more out."

"And what about us? What do _we_ do while the rest of you are out being useful, huh?" Lucky's face was set and determined and Sonny couldn't help but be a little, well, _moved_ by the deep-reaching concern both young men felt towards Jason's sister. It was a sweet thing, really.

Relenting for what seemed like the millionth time that day, Sonny ran a hand over his face. "Fine. Okay. Why don't you two, ah… pay the PCPD a visit—see if their crack detectives managed to pull anything together yet. Pump 'em for as much info as you can. Who knows, maybe they'll be something we can use."

The pair seemed to be aware that their 'jobs' had been a placating effort on Sonny's part, but they nodded obediently anyway. To Sonny their easy acceptance of it proved just how badly they wanted her back; they'd do anything—even braving the Port Charles Idiot Patrol—as long as it didn't involve sitting around and twiddling their thumbs. Doing nothing at a time like this seemed an unforgivable sin.

"And take a guard with you. Just to be safe," he told the brothers as he once again made for the door. "I don't need anybody else winding up in the ICU today." He swung open the penthouse door, Francis waiting at the ready in the hall, but turned a pair of softened dark eyes on his little sister before disappearing. "I don't know if he'll listen to me, Courtney," He said softly. "But I'll try."

A beat later, the heavy wooden door swung shut behind him.

-----

"So, is this how it's gonna to go?" She asked him with her usual impudence, her back to him, her eyes fixed on the swaying trees that dotted the lawn. "We stand around in silence, you staring a hole through my back?"

Just as before, he was left with nothing to do but glower at the back of her head, feeling the altogether unfamiliar pinpricks of immaturity force a snipe of protest. "I wasn't staring."

And then she snorted. _Again_.

"Do you have to do that?" he snapped, unable to beat down the childish reaction.

Emily's jaw clenched; he could plainly see the muscle tense there and viciously so. She wheeled around to face him, her arms set defiantly across her chest. "Do _what_?" She practically hissed it at him.

With significant effort, Lorenzo managed to quell his urge to match her spiteful glare. "Snort," he said easily, tone not betraying his mounting frustrations with her—but only barely. Yes, he was a man versed in keeping his temper under wraps in situations of this kind, but this young woman was proving to be unlike anyone he'd ever dealt with previously. She seemed to possess the inexplicable ability to pull genuine emotions from him. Both of extreme incense and… _sympathy_ even, when one counted his reaction to her display earlier. And, frankly, he was becoming disgusted with himself. These responses to her were _highly_ irregular. "It's very unbecoming."

Barely suppressing a laugh, Emily pressed a thin hand to her chest and batted her eyes mockingly. "Oh, I'm _sorry_… am I not behaving to your liking, _Mr. Kidnapper Sir_?"

A sugary sweet verbal slap in the face. How Lovely. "You're an exceptionally cynical woman, Ms. Quatermaine."

"Cynical?" Emily snapped, gazing at him in disbelief. "You think I'm _cynical_? Oh, that's _right_," she said, shaking her head disgustedly. "I'm not cowering in some corner scared of my own shadow, trembling in fear every time you come near me, so I _must_ be a contemptuous Ivy League bitch, right? Never mind the fact that I'm being held against my will in some sick game your playing with Sonny and my brother, and that maybe—just _maybe_—I might be a little pissed off about that fact. Pissed off enough to share with you my displeasure with just how _rank_ this all is. But, of course, I wouldn't expect you to understand any of that, seeing as though you'd probably like nothing more than to have me weak-kneed and flinching in terror at you very prese—"

"First of all," Lorenzo interrupted sharply, his hands safely balled into white-knuckled fists within his pockets, away from her scrutinizing gaze. "I made no such implications about you being an… 'Ivy League bitch', was it?" He took particular pleasure in the repeated clench of her jaw. "I merely made what was, in my opinion, a fairly accurate assessment of your attitude—which, by the way, leaves _much_ to be desired. And secondly," a calming breath invaded his lungs and Lorenzo forced his voice to ditch its steely tilt—it was no easy feat. "Believe it or not, Ms. Quatermaine, the absolute last thing I want is for you to be terrified of me."

His admission hung in the air starkly, it becoming painfully clear that another one of those awkward moments had found them. Once again, Emily simply stared at him, much as she had only minutes earlier, that same flickering of emotion—negative or positive, he had no right idea—riveting him foolishly to the spot. Somewhere, buried in the back of his mind, a tiny voice chanted that this was when his exit should be made. It had been the perfect closing statement. Yet still, there he was, standing there, a mere two feet from her, his feet unwilling to move and his eyes unwilling to shift from hers.

And what incredible eyes they were.

The soft brown orbs, he could tell, belonged to a woman who was so much more than what she outwardly appeared. And it amazed him how very much they spoke about her. Courage, fire, honesty, love, devotion—they were all there, weaved delicately between flakes of gold and green that nothing short of glittered as they stared back at him, unflinchingly, challengingly. And, at that moment, as the heavy and binding silence hung so darkly about them, Lorenzo was struck by an utterly absurd desire. To see those very eyes alight and happy instead of hard with scorn, smiling in unsurpassed joy. At _him_. _For_ him.

And just as quickly as the musing had found him, Lorenzo stamped out the silly notion, grinding it to dust and banishing it from his mind. His back straightened resolutely, Lorenzo backed away from her and broke the spell yet again. It was nothing, he told himself, just a lingering of things that were better off forgotten. It wasn't her. It was a shadow of a memory, it wasn't real. That was it. Case closed. No further examination necessary.

On with the show.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he offered the still strangely silent girl only his profile. "I had my men purchase some things for you," he said. "Clothes and such. I'll have them brought up here when they arrive."

And with one final moment of hesitation, he left, the heavy chamber doors closing quietly in his wake.

-----

**_Port Charles, April 2003_**

_They hadn't said one word to each other in almost an hour, and Nikolas didn't think he'd felt this content in a very long time. Two years to be exact. Emily, her hair pulled up in a makeshift ponytail, lay across the foot of her bed, flat on her stomach, her ankles hooked together, completely immersed in a book, and thoroughly oblivious to the fact that he'd been staring at her for the past ten minutes. He had his back propped up against her headboard, and was, at the moment, trying very hard to memorize the picture she made—because it was perfect. Wisps of her dark hair drifted into her eyes, giving need for her to push it back behind her ear every once and a while. Her eyes--delicate, deep, enchanting mocha--were narrowed on the aged pages, and her tank-top clad back rose and fell in a precious rhythm that, right now, seemed to possess hypnotic powers. Because even though he knew he should stop, and pay the ancient leather bound book in his lap decent mind, he just… couldn't. It'd been too long since he'd been able to do this. To just look at her. To just be near her again. It felt right. Peaceful, almost. _

_And while he took full advantage of this long missed ability—stretching on for several minutes—Nikolas became keenly aware that he was being ridiculous. He'd talked with her every week—sometimes twice—during the whole time she was away, and here he was, sitting in her room, completely incapable of doing something as simple as _reading_. And all because he couldn't stop watching her, and couldn't get over how incredible it felt to be able to do just that. In short, he felt like an idiot, like a…what did Lucky call it…? A dumbass? Nikolas chuckled lightly at his brother's crassness. Yeah, that was it. A dumbass. A big one. _

_"What's so funny?"_

_Her voice, interested yet somehow detached, startled him a bit; causing the book perched in his lap to clap shut abruptly. He winced at the sound. Oh, yeah. Definitely a dumbass. "Nothing," he said, his voice sounding more controlled than he was feeling, because, well, he wasn't feeling very controlled at all. He actually had no clue what he was feeling, which, in and of itself, was fairly disturbing. This was Emily for God's sake, the same Emily he'd know for practically half his life. The Emily who had been his first real friend in PC, who'd attempted to teach him how to dance Hip Hop, who'd he'd--with the same degree of success-- had tried to teach fencing to. The same Emily who'd had an enormous crush on him, who'd kissed him in the middle of a moonlit park… _

_Completely unbidden, a silly—yes, _silly_—smile of remembrance attached itself to the prince's lips. Heh. That was a _good_ memory. But not for the reason's one might think. It hadn't been the spontaneous realization of a long fantasized moment (not by a long-shot) nor had the kiss caused him to suddenly fall head- over-heels for the then thirteen year old. No, Nikolas held the memory dear for another reason altogether. See, that was the night he realized exactly how much mettle God could cram into one tiny, little body. Because that had been the bravest, most daring thing he'd ever witnessed. Just putting her feelings out there like she did, _completely_ out, with nothing but a vein of hope and an "oh, screw it" attitude to spur her on. She'd become his hero that night, and hadn't quit being it since. _

_"Okay, that's it," she said, pushing herself up on an elbow to peer at him, her voice not sounding so uninterested anymore. "I demand to know what the grinning is all about, Nikolas." _

_Yes, she was a back and that was amazingly wonderful, but, as Lucky would so astutely put it, he needed to get a grip. Bad. So, mentally shaking himself, Nikolas straightened and forced a more neutral expression. "I wasn't grinning," he denied composedly. _

_Her eyebrow did a slow rise and she shifted in place, pivoting to face him fully. She considered him carefully for a moment, and Nikolas briefly remembered a time when this sort of prolonged eye-contact would have resulted in her blushing furiously and busying herself with picking at the hem of her skirt or a button on her blouse. God, things had changed. They really weren't kids anymore. _She_ wasn't a kid anymore… Cautious eyes that sought evidence of his musing roamed reverently across the smooth, ivory curves of her face, the graceful tint of her cheeks, the soft, pink bow of her mouth, the pale column of her throat that met bare shoulders in a graceful dip… the expanse of freckle-dusted skin that disappeared beneath clingy white cotton… _

_It wasn't until she shifted uncomfortably under the trail of his gaze that Nikolas realized he had succumbed to staring _again_, and _blatant_ staring at that. With an admonishing sigh he averted his eyes to his book, hoping that she would allow his uncharacteristic breach to go unmentioned, that she would go back to reading her dusty, old book of poetry, and that they could regain the companionable silence of the past hour. He wasn't surprise in any measure when her gentle but bemused voice dashed his feeble hopes._

_"What is wrong with you, Nikolas?"_

_The question was posed with a shake of her head that, by someone unfamiliar with Emily and her ways, could easily have been construed as accusatory, cold even. But, in her eyes, there was a genuine and open interest, a worry that vehemently denied the contrary. In other words, she was only half joking, and he knew it. That was the only reason why he didn't just simply laugh and continue his charade of reading. "Nothing," he answered her, voice still as acutely controlled as ever. "Everything is—"_

_"Oh, my God, if you say 'fine' I'm going to smack you," she huffed, managing to looking utterly adorable in a completely baffling way. She'd been doing that a lot lately. "You and Lucky are like two parrots with all this 'I'm fine' stuff."_

_"Could that because we _are_—" She glared at him, prompting a mid-sentence switch of gears. "—doing _okay_," he substituted with emphasis. "Did you ever think of that, Emily?"_

_"Yeah… for, like, a minute," she countered._

_His eyes narrowed playfully. "Well, try making it stretch a little longer, then, because I assure you: I. Am. _Fine_." He smiled openly at the eye roll she gave. He really didn't know anyone else like her, doubted he ever would._

_"Okay, okay," she relented while still eyeing him suspiciously. "But I'd still like to know what all this smiling is about. You're a _Cassadine_, Nikolas; the grin is kinda freakin' me out. Where'd Mr. Broody go to, huh?" _

_He lowered his eyes once more to his book, perturbed at himself for being so transparent. He hadn't even realized he was smiling so much. His face just sort of… got that way whenever she was around. Wasn't much he could do to stop it, and, to be honest, he didn't really want to try. It felt good. _She_ made him feel good. "I can't help it okay," he admitted, an inattentive mind condemning him to rereading the same sentence over and over again. "I'm just happy you're back." _

_And, in response, Emily let out a tiny, high-pitched "aww." In a flash she was perched on her knees and directly in front of him, commanding his complete attention with her fathomless brown eyes and wide, open smile. "You missed me?" she squeaked, clearly delighted, a delicate hand pressed to her chest._

_His head tipped gently to the side as he considered her, unsure of his response, unsure of the response _she'd_ be ready for. Because he had a feeling, a rather certain one, that there was indeed a vast difference between what he wanted to say at this moment, and what Emily would be okay with hearing. He opted instead for a middle ground—a place he knew well when it came to her. _

_"I always miss you when you're not with me."_

----- __

Streams of brilliant midday sun made the water's surface glimmer as it churned, and, to Lucky's left, Nikolas stood at the docks' edge, eyes cast out in a thousand yard stare. Sighing, Lucky squinted at the view, trying to pluck out what had his brother so enraptured, and knowing full well he wouldn't find it out there. Because, chances were, Nikolas wasn't even seeing the water, or the sun, or anything at all. He was seeing her. He was seeing Emily. And it made Lucky's heart sink.

_This is so unfair_, he thought angrily. Nikolas and Emily had been _so close_. With the talked he'd had with Nikolas in the Jag, and after the little kiss on the cheek he'd given Emily last night, Lucky was convinced it would only be a matter of time. They would finally stop playing games, stop running, and just admit it already. Just let themselves feel what damn near everyone could see was there.

But then it all fell apart, and Lucky wasn't sure whether he should be more worried, angry, sad, or an unhinged mixture of the three. And the last option seemed to make the most sense because he _was_ all three. He was terrified for Emily, worried sick about her, entertaining murderous thoughts toward Alcazar, and, lastly, sad. For Emily's family, for Elizabeth, for himself, but more for his brother. Nikolas would never admit it, but he was hurting inside right now. Lucky could see it in his eyes. For the first time in Nikolas's life, he was feeling helpless, like it was all out of his hands, that there wasn't anything he could do—and precisely at a time when action was the most crucial. And Lucky knew that had to be killing his brother, because it sure as hell was killing _him_. Sure, he'd left Liz and tracked Nikolas to Sonny's; he'd even managed to talk himself into the search, too. But it still felt like they weren't really doing anything. Emily was with God only knows what kind of scum, probably royally freaked out and there they were, on their way to see what kind of info the _PCPD_ had to give them. God, could it get any more ridiculous than that?

Sighing again, Lucky cut his eyes to the side. Nikolas was still unmoved. After five whole minutes he hadn't so much as swayed. It was actually a little freaky. "Hey, Nik?" Silence. And, turning fully toward him, Lucky tired again a little louder. "Nikolas…"

Like a switch had been flipped, Nikolas sprung to life. He tore his eyes off the water and looked at Lucky. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Where'd you go just now?" Lucky asked, glancing out at the water and then back at his brother. "You seemed like you were light years away."

Nikolas shook his head, peering down at the dock boards like they were the most interesting sight in the world. "Not that far," he whispered sadly, giving Lucky the distinct impression that those words had a meaning he wasn't getting. But the odd moment was broken when his brother took a deep, sudden breath, as if righting his thoughts, and flashed a placating smile. "Did you—did you have something you wanted to ask me…?"

"Yeah. I, uh…I guess I just wanted to know if you were sure about this," Lucky said, hands burrowing into the pockets of his jeans. "Are you _sure_ you don't want to come with me to get Liz. I know she's worried about you, man. It might help her to see you right now." Yeah, it was a cheap shot, playing the Liz card, but, hey, you use what you got, right?

"Lucky, I have no interest in going to Lansing's house, I can't stand the guy. I told you; you take the Jag to get Liz, and I'll meet you two at the PCPD later."

"Well, as enticing as that offer is, you letting me get behind the wheel of your baby and all, I still think you should come with me. She really needs to see you."

"She doesn't need to see me, she needs to see _Emily_," Nikolas snapped, a flare of anger rearing its head completely out of the blue. "Seeing _me_ isn't going to fix anything. It isn't going to bring Emily home, or make Elizabeth any less afraid, make her stop wondering where Emily is, if she's okay, or if she's scared or hurt or… or…." Lucky watched his brother close his eyes and bite down on the sudden welling emotion, forcing it back and away.

"Whoa, calm down," Lucky said, hands up, palms out, not understanding what had set his brother off. He'd just been doing an impression of an inanimate object a minute ago. What the hell? "Emily is _okay_, Nikolas. She isn't—"

"You don't know that!" Nikolas roared. "No one knows a damn thing and I just… I just have _no idea_ what to do. She's gone. Like, _gone_, without any real trace. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours and I feel like I'm dying here, Lucky. I really don't know how much more of this I can take." The admission was raw and shaky and Lucky was more than positive that it hadn't been planned on. And there was a glint to his eyes that in one instant confirmed something Lucky had suspected but had no way of being sure of until now: His brother was slowly coming unglued here. Seriously unglued. "I just want to see her, Lucky. That's all I want. Just to see her. To have her back."

Tentatively, Lucky drifted forward a half step. He wasn't exactly an expert at this sort of thing, but he had to try. "I know," he said quietly, still nearing his brother like he was a wild animal and any sudden movement might send him fleeing from sight. "I want that, too, man. Believe me, I do. I want Emily back, too."

"But how are we going to _accomplish_ it, Lucky?" Nikolas asked him, frustration temporarily staving off his brother's desperation. "How the _hell_ are we going to do it?"

Lucky sighed and hung his head. He was wondering the same thing himself. It was easy to say that she'd be back, but it would be something else completely to actually succeed in bringing her home, especially considering just how little they knew. "That I don't know," he admitted, a bit deflated as he stared at the tops of his boots.

The water caught Nikolas' attention again as the dark haired prince turned to the rolling currents. "It's just a waiting game, isn't it?" he asked, more to himself than to him, Lucky gathered. "There really isn't a damn thing we can do but sit and wait for that bastard to make his more, is there? We're powerless. Completely and totally _powerless_."

These words brought Lucky's head up. He couldn't even imagine how difficult saying that had to have been. Cassadines weren't keen on admitting weakness, and, though he was not your typical Cassadine, Nikolas was no exception to this fact. "We won't be for long." He wasn't sure why he said that, exactly, only that it was the only thing his mind could process. Lucky just couldn't wrap his mind around any other possibility. Stan and Andy would find something. They would track the Lear's true route and, in doing so, get a lead on Emily's location. It would happen. It had to.

"Look," Lucky went on when it appeared Nikolas didn't have a retort for him. "You have to keep your head busy; dwelling isn't gonna do anything but make it worse. So, just, I don't know… just come with me to get Liz, if for no other reason than to just be there. We need to be together right now."

The statue shifted, an alarming laugh flittering through the air. "We?" he said, incredulous. "And do you plan on inducting a new member into the group? Because something tells me Lansing won't be too thrilled with us spending time alone with Elizabeth. He's barely let her see the light of day since the miscarriage, and every time I have seen her he's been right there, glaring a hole through my head."

Mentally, Lucky flicked back to earlier in the day, when he'd gone to see Elizabeth. Ric hadn't stopped staring at them the whole time. It was down right creepy and just another reason why he did not enjoy Ric Lansing. The man was just off, and, in his and his brother's opinion, not at all right for Elizabeth. Straightening, Lucky refocused on Nikolas' profile. "Screw Lansing," he said. "She was ours first, right?" Nikolas snorted a laugh and Lucky smiled, inspired by the reaction. "I mean, hey, we're the Four Musketeers, aren't we?"

Nikolas smiled, his eyes still on the water. "The girls love it when we call ourselves that."

"And they should, because that's exactly who we are, Nikolas. The Four Musketeers. All for one…"

"…And one for all," he finished. Slowly, Nikolas turned to face his brother. And Lucky could see it. Sure, the whole 'all for one and one for all' quote was cheesy as all hell, but he _knew_ it would work. The four of them meant more to each other than anyone—_anyone_—could ever even begin to realize. They'd been through hell and back together, starting with Elizabeth's rape and Emily's first blackmail, catching that bastard Tom who was behind them both, the brainwashing, The whole Dead Ted fiasco, and so, _so_ many other things. And now tragedy had struck again and Lucky knew that, if they wanted to make it through the other side of this thing, they'd have to stick together. The three of them. Until it could be the four of them. And if Lansing didn't like, the creep could just go jump off a pier for all Lucky cared.

"So you coming of your own free will or do I have to drag your ass back to the Jag? 'Cause either way, your coming with me, man."

Nikolas laughed. Thank God Almighty, he _laughed_. "Okay, okay, I'm coming."

"Oh, good," Lucky breathed, giving his head a shake and letting his shoulders slump as he led the way back to the car. "Because Elizabeth would have kicked my ass if I showed up without you."

-----

Sonny found him just where Courtney had suggested: the hospital. Eyes shut, Jason was leaning against Johnny's closed door, his head bowed. With a sigh and a rough sweep over his stubble-peppered chin, Sonny approached his friend slowly.

"Jason." It wasn't very clever, but it worked, and Jason blinked open his eyes. He didn't seem at all surprised. Or happy.

Jason surveyed the empty spaces behind and to the right and left of Sonny—the spaces that _weren't_ supposed to be empty. "Where are the guards?"

Sonny sighed again. Would Jason ever stop putting others before himself? The man wasn't even twenty-four-hours out of _surgery_ for God's sake, and his concern for Sonny's wellbeing still overrode the sparse (and that was probably being generous) concern he harbored for himself. If they weren't the complete antithesis of Godly men, Sonny would have nominated Jason for sainthood long ago. "They stayed downstairs—" Jason's shoulders gave a nearly imperceptible twitch of annoyance "—what?" Sonny bit out, trying not to become incensed quite so early in their exchange. "Did you _want_ Francis and Max hanging on every word of this?"

Jason drew back on himself at Sonny words; eyes cast downward, jaw set. He knew what was coming, knew why Sonny ordered the guards—even ones as in the loop as Francis and Max—to stay away. They were going to have it out, and though Sonny couldn't think of anything he'd like to do _less_ at that very moment, he grudgingly accepted the task's necessity. Jason had gotten into his head that he could get Emily back completely on his own. And there was no way Sonny could let him do that. No way.

With another massive sigh, Sonny took a familiar stance of woeful contemplation: one hand set at his hip, the other cupped against the side of his face, while his eyes focused dolefully on the top of Jason's head. "You know—you know that I can't let you do this, right? That I can't let you take off."

"I'm not gonna take off." Softly spoken, a calm and measured retort. Sonny almost believed it. Almost.

"Don't lie to me, Jason."

"I _don't_ lie to you, Sonny. Remember?"

The answer was delivered with such bite, Sonny actually flinched. Not something easily accomplished. Letting out a long, measured breath, Sonny once again reined in his temper. There was a better way to do this. There had to be. So, after a nanosecond of weighing his approaches, Sonny went on with the option that had the best chance of breaking through: talking specs, not talking down. "I put a team together," he ventured with a heavy voice.

At this, Sonny saw the tiniest trace of relent in his friend's profile and with it a spark of triumph. Maybe if he just kept pushing, kept hammering his point across… "I got Stan and even Myer working triple manned on this, Jase. I, uh… I even reached out."

Jason looked up then, brows furrowed, cool blue eyes squinted in disbelief. "Not the families…? Sonny, please tell me you didn't bring that son of a bitch into the--"

"No, no, not Tagliatti," Sonny assured Jason, who visibly deflated. "I would never involve him on this. I sent out a call to Andy-V." Sonny dipped his voice to a whisper as he moved a step closer to Jason. One could never be too careful. "And, man, he's already got us in this. You remember what you said about Alcazar? Yeah, well, Andy says you were right on the mark—he think this was him all the way. He got hold of some conflicting flight plans and some--"

"Wait. He's _sure_? He's positive that Alcazar was behind it?"

Sonny nodded. "Like I said, all the way."

For one moment, perhaps two, Jason stood stock still as he stared at Sonny. But then, in his eyes, Sonny saw something snap, and like a shot, before Sonny could even react properly, Jason was halfway down the corridor, trudging toward the elevators like a man possessed.

Clicking back into the present, Sonny took off after him, ignoring for a moment the fact that he, composed, Mob Boss Sonny Corinthos was _running_ down a hospital corridor. "Whoa—Jason, _wait_!"

"Not now, Sonny," Jason all but growled over his shoulder.

Reaching down, Sonny put on an extra burst of speed and lunged forward just before Jason stepped onto the conveniently open elevator. He clapped a hand over Jason's good shoulder and yanked him backward. Jason stumbled and spun around to face his boss and friend, the contorting pull of anger visible in every line and furrow of his face. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Me?" Sonny righted his jacket and gazed coldly at Jason. "What am_ I_ dong? What are _you_ doing? Jason, I tell you that I'm pretty sure this is Alcazar's game—the same Alcazar who's an _international operator_—and you take off out of here like your ass is on fire? _Alone?_ I don't even know what to say to that."

"Then don't say anything," Jason spat, smoothing down his own mussed clothes. "Just let me go save my sister."

The urge to shatter something was so strong Sonny actually slipped his eyes closed for a moment in effort to quell his frustration. Opening them again, Sonny said: "You'll have to find her first."

"Fine. Then I'll find her."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

"I'll figure it out."

"Okay, and what about back-up? You plan on taking Alcazar _and_ his legions on all by yourself."

"If I have to."

Sonny let out a howl—an actual _howl_—of frustration. "Are you even listening to yourself, man? How in the _hell_ can you believe that you're capable of doing this alone, without getting you and Emily _killed_?!"

"I don't know!" It wasn't just an admission—it was a _roar_. Jason's chest heaved and his eyes blazed, but it was a different kind of blaze. It was the blaze of fear, true and gripping. Jason was a man who thrived on being needed, who lived to repair the damage, to fix the problem, and to right the wrong… only, this time, when it really meant something—_everything_—to him, there wasn't anything Jason could do. Sonny could practically see the helplessness eating away at his friend, devouring him from the inside out. And, at the risk of sounding mushy, it broke his heart. "I just… I don't know _how_, Sonny, but I have to _try_. I have to—"

"You have to think is what you have to do. You have to take one damn minute and use your head, Jase—I _know_ that you get this. Running off half-cocked… it ain't gonna do Emily any good, and all it's gonna get you is dead. So you need to take a breath here and decided what you want." Sonny cast a glance at Johnny's room and then back at Jason, eyes solemn. And in that instant, the Mobster's decision was made. If Jason wouldn't listen to reason, Sonny would be forced to _show_ it to him. Sonny let out a determined huff of air and seized Jason by the arm. He pulled his friend—who seemed more stunned than angry, really—behind him until they were directly in front of the window to Johnny's room. He released Jason and thrust a finger at the security glass, to the hospital bed beyond it. He looked at Jason with eyes that flashed darkly between anger and legitimate worry.

"Do you want to end up back in here hooked up to a bunch of machines, so drugged out that you can't even say Emily's name, let alone _save_ her? Huh? Is that what you really want?"

Sonny registered a ripple of victory at the way Jason--the notorious brick wall with a pulse--winced at his words, and the way he averted his eyes from the heartbreaking scene that stood framed before them. But Sonny didn't lower his eyes. No, he forced himself to look; to let his tired gaze anchor on the image of an exhausted fourteen-year-old asleep at her injured brother's bedside, her fingers intertwined with his. Sometimes, just when he'd almost—_almost_—let himself forget a little of the pain, an ounce of the guilt, something traumatic would always happen to slap Sonny right back into reality. Dismal reality. And, as it almost always went, he was never fast enough, or fortunate enough, to be the one who bore the brunt of that trauma. No, others… _innocent_ others seemed destined to do that job for him. There wasn't anything he could do to save Johnny now or ease Gina's heartache; the worst had already happened. But there was still Emily to think about… Sonny's eyes sought out his best friend again. And Jason. He could still keep Jason from barging headlong into disaster…

"Because _that's_ exactly what you're gonna get," Sonny continued to an unmoving Jason, gesturing again to their battered employee. "Go. Run out of here without any sort of plan, zero Intel, _and_ a bum shoulder and I promise you that _this_ is exactly where you will end up. Only, I don't think you'll be so lucky as to have _your_ sister sitting vigil at your bedside. So, I ask you again, Jason, is this how you want to do things? Or do you want to take a step back from your anger long enough to just sit down with me and with Stan and Andy and come up with a real plan that will have your sister back home again safe, with you, where she belongs?"

Frozen, looking every bit the part of stone statue, Jason stared at Sonny. And Sonny all but lost it. "You know what?" the older man roared. "_Fine_. You wanna go and dig your own gave by charging outta here—be my fucking guest! But if you think for one second that I'm gonna let you put Emily at risk because you can't calm the hell down—you got another coming. Newsflash, Jason: I care about her, too." The statement was low and gravely and the God's honest truth. "I've known that girl since she was twelve years old. She is decent, caring, fair, generous, and more forgiving than I could ever hope to be, and I'm not going to let anyone—not even _you_—mess up my chances of getting her out of this alive and untouched! So, if you're not going stand down on your own, then I'm going to be forced to make you! It's entirely your decision. But hear what I have to say: I don't want to take this there, Jason. But I will. I swear to God, I will."

With one final glare, Sonny turned on his heel and started off down the hall, his promise hanging ominously in the air. And, yes, surprising at it may have seemed, it was a promise. Sonny hated the idea of pulling rank at a time like this, but if Jason thought he could not only blatantly disregard orders but _pleas_ as well, then Sonny didn't know what other choice he was left with. Allowing Jason to make such an emotionally fueled and drastic move could've ended up jeopardizing everything, and not just Emily. It would show their hand, let Alcazar know just how desperately they wanted Emily back—which was exactly like giving the bastard a free pass to do whatever the hell he wanted to both Emily _and_ the city…a thought that moved the mobster's stomach in a queasy swirl. He couldn't—under any circumstances—allow that to happen. He just hoped Jason would come to his senses and concede before things got too out of cont—

"I'll come with you…"

The slowly and softly spoken words nearly gave Sonny a heart attack; he'd been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he hadn't even heard Jason following him down the hall. Sonny turned to face his enforcer, his friend, and offered him a small, relieved smile. Well, that had turned out _way_ better than he thought.

"…But we have to make a stop first."

And just like that Sonny's smile was gone, fleeing from him in a blink of Jason's rigid gaze. Sonny sighed and raked a heavy hand over his face.

Why, oh, _why,_ did he have the feeling that he _really_ wasn't going to like this?

-----

A bird landed on the veranda. A tiny, white bird—she had no idea what kind—fluttered to a graceful stop on her veranda railing. And chirped at her.

Emily stuck her tongue out at it.

_Stupid bird_, she huffed, _flaunting its freedom all willy-nilly_.

If only she had a rock… or a cat.

Emily's eyes popped at the disturbing notion. Okay, that was it. She needed to get a grip. She was actually entertaining thoughts of _murdering_ some poor, defenseless bird who had done nothing but perfectly normal birdie-type things. She had no idea what going stir crazy—or any kind of crazy at all, really—felt like, but this had to be at least in the _general vicinity_ of some kind of mental break, here. It had to be. How could wishing cute little white birdies dead not be? Pushing roughly off the bed, Emily began to pace the polished wooden floor, arms crossed and mouth drawn into a frown. She couldn't take this. The disturbingly heated and intense face-offs with Alcazar which, in her opinion, involved _way_ too much eye-contact (she absolutely refused to analyze the whyfors on this one), the creepy Miguel dude, who, frankly, gave off some _major_ icky, agonizing over Jason and Johnny's conditions, not knowing a damn thing either way, feeling like some kind of caged animal whose cage happened to be way prettier than a cage should _ever_ be—it was all beginning to melt together in her head, like one big, nonsensical blob of anger, worry, fear, and confusion. She wanted to tear her hair out. She wanted to scream…

She wanted to go home.

Sighing dejectedly, Emily collapsed into an arm chair. This wasn't working. She should be trying to prop herself up, keep positive, optimistic, something… _anything_. Brooding wasn't going to do her any good at all. No, what she needed to do was just… just find a way to at the very least _cope_ until Sonny had enough time to string _something_ together and get her the hell out of here. And she knew he would. As much as she hated what her being kidnapped could end up costing Sonny and her brother in the end, deep down Emily knew that her speech to Alcazar had been utter crap. Sonny, if out nothing else but devotion to Jason, would do everything imaginable to bring her home. It was a comforting thought, but, also--when the idea of negotiations came into play--a _not_ so comforting thought. Inwardly she wondered what Alcazar would ask of Sonny in exchange for her safe return. Probably something territorial, something pivotal, something big… something Sonny may actually _give_ him. Emily cringed at the thought. What if Jason was so anxious for her return that Alcazar ended up getting way more than he could ever normally hope for? What if Alcazar--in a ruthless move she just _knew_ he'd be more than capable of--managed to milk this for everything it was worth, and finagle himself into a position of outweighing control in the city? Emily gulped and skimmed a hand over the rising uneasiness in her belly. What if Sonny ended up _losing_ his _power_ in Port Charles over this?

_No_, her mind chided in vicious retort. _Insanity_. That would never—_ever_—happen. Pigs would fly first.

Emily coasted her brown eyes to her chamber doors. No matter how slick Alcazar thought himself, the ruin of Sonny Corinthos would only ever be a pipe-dream for him. A really nice thing to envision, no doubt, but what most would call an utter impossibility. Sonny and Jason were _it_ in Port Charles. Sonny and Jason would always be it. Emily couldn't imagine a world where such a thing wasn't true. Her mind just couldn't go there.

But a place Emily did force her mind was back to the present, back to her lavishly decorated cage, as she had assessed it, and back to trying to find some way of keeping thoughts involving ruin and rescues far out of reach. With a weary sigh, Emily pulled herself up from the plush armchair and gave her surroundings a deliberate inspection. It—in all the time she'd actually spent in the room—had been the first time she'd truly _looked_ at anything it held with any kind of real interest. Slowly her gaze traveled over aged walls and worn but polished floors, the rich fabrics that hung from taunting windows—tall and imposing windows that were ideal for escape but much too high off the ground for it as well, the lush ferns that grew sturdily in large stony pots, the—

An eager breath of wind kicked up already fluttering white window sheers, sending a spray of pure, vibrant yellow light into the airy chamber. Across the room, from atop a gorgeously carved dresser, flashed a glint of gold. Emily moved toward it with interest, all thoughts of her precarious situation momentarily forgotten…

-----

So, he was a glutton for punishment, or, perhaps, just a sucker for a spirited conversation with a surprisingly witty, and, admittedly, sharp-tongued female. Whatever the reason, Lorenzo once again found himself strutting confidently toward Elena—_Emily's_ chamber. The things he'd purchased for her had arrived, and he was on his way to inform her. Clearly, after the complete mess their last encounter had turned into, the most logical choice would have been to send one of the servants to tell her. But, well, _obviously_, he hadn't gone quite that way.

Without knocking he pushed open the sound double doors and stepped inside. Out of long forgotten habit, his eyes drifted to the bed, but, finding it empty, scanned the rest of the room for Emily's small, robe-clad form. What his eyes happened upon was something he had—perhaps stupidly—not at all prepared himself to see… or hear. Emily stood by the dresser, Elena's music box in her hands, and, before Lorenzo could even wrap his mind around the image, he saw her carefully swing open the lid. A sweet, melancholy tune drifted from the golden box and Lorenzo felt his heart stop. Emily was reaching inside…

His reflexives returned with a vengeance and Lorenzo bound forward in a few inhumanely fast paces. Not caring how it was perceived in the least, he reached over Emily's shoulder and ripped the box from her hands.

Emily gasped and spun to face him. "Hey!" she yelled, eyes wide with surprise.

"This isn't for you," Lorenzo snapped. It was a quiet snap, more a growl, really, and he dimly registered the way the lines of her body stiffened but then softened as her dark eyes combed observantly through the scene that had just taken place. His heart was racing as he palmed the small box. He knew she was looking at him, appraising him in that annoyingly perceptive way she had, and, so, at that moment, he dared not meet her eyes. It was already bad enough that he had lost his composure in front of her, and in such a dramatic way, he saw no need to allow her any further access to him. Because he had no doubt that, with her piercing gaze, that was precisely what looking at her would accomplish here. And he wanted none of it.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice quieter, _calmer_ than he had perhaps ever heard it to be. "That box, what is it about it that—"

"Never you mind." He growled, unpleased—yet again—with how tightly wound his words were.

His garish answer earned the expected reaction; Emily drew back from him a pace or two and held her small hands up in defense. "Whoa, look, don't get all bent, okay? I was just—"

Finally, unable to help himself any longer, he rounded on her, stopping her trail of words cold. "Snooping," he supplied harshly. "And it would be wise for you to never do it again."

Whatever softness, whatever concession he had seen in her, however muted, vanished at this. "Hey, wait a minute, here," she snapped back. "_You're_ the one who stuck me in this room. If you have a problem with how I occupy my time then maybe you should—"

"And maybe _you_ should recognize the value of silence, Ms. Quatermaine." He could see the anger coiling in her eyes, a slow burn in the honey brown depths. She open her mouth—undoubtedly for yet another knife-tongued comment, but Lorenzo, growing more weary by the second, cut her off with a glare. "As you so expertly put it, you're not a guest here, you are my prisoner, isn't that correct?" She gave no sign of agreement—not that he expected any. The mere idea was laughable. He was certain she'd rather keel over than give him so much as an inch. "Then, Ms. Quatermaine, since you are indeed my _prisoner_—I can plainly tell you see no use in sugar-coating it—then, may I suggest you start acting the part."

She parted her pursed lips to speak again, but Lorenzo still refused to give her the chance, nor the triumph—since that seemed to be what she came away with during the majority of their exchanges. "It was a mistake on my part to house you here," he said decisively, eyes floating to the door, fingers tightening around Elena's music box. "I'm moving you to the east wing."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Lorenzo, giving into a beastly impulse, made a deliberate, stalking move toward the tense brunette. "As a matter of fact," Lorenzo drawled, feeling a tingling flutter of victory bloom in his chest as he watched her narrowed, angry eyes track his encroachment with palpable apprehension. "It should mean a great deal. Your new quarters will be adjacent to mine."

"Yours?" she croaked, her mask of consummate unflappability cracking _just so_.

Lorenzo nodded, and then smiled, happy as a clown to have regained at least _some_ of the control in their off-kilter relationship. He lifted the palmed music box into the light, looking pointedly from it to her. "Something tells me I need to keep a closer watch on you, and I can't think of a more convenient place than directly across the hall from your rooms to do just that. Can you?"

Again she didn't answer, only stared. And, as with her anger—which was most definitely present—he could see a grim acceptance in her eyes. She was no fool, for she understood—perhaps almost _too_ well—the role she played in all of this. She was, in absolute and nonnegotiable truth, a prisoner. _His_ prisoner. And while it was her duty to defy him at every turn, it was _his_ to bend her to any will he so desired. And this was his will. And it would happen, no matter how loudly she protested or how viciously she fought him. And it was this intimate knowledge of how his world—how _he_—worked, that Lorenzo saw reflected in her gaze. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

But neither the confusion, nor the moment lasted long; Emily, in a fashion he began to notice as characteristic of her, broke the ambiguous eye-contact with a terse straightening of her back and a sudden jut of her gaze. "Fine, move me. We both know I can't stop you. And besides," she added with a returned flare of attitude. "It's not like it really matters, anyway. It's only a matter of time before I'm free of this godforsaken place and back where I belong."

Lorenzo tilted his head to the side. "Is something wrong with your short-term memory?"

She huffed and turned her back to him, eyes peering through fluttering sheers. "If you think that because my brother is hurt Sonny will just sit back and do nothing, let himself be roped into negotiations with a man like _you—_" She practically _spat_ the word. "—then you're an even bigger fool than I already pegged you for."

A fool? Wait—didn't he just have her silently seething--but _submitting_--a second ago? Lorenzo's free hand balled into a fist at his side. This was all wrong. How did he keep allowing her to put _him_ on the defensive?

"The only fool I see here is _you_," he barked, bits of his famed control leaving him once more with every tense word he uttered. "You are _barely_ more than a little girl playing at being something she has no conception of. Try as you may, Ms. Quatermaine, you're not the ice-princess you aspire to be. You're far too… _hot blooded_ for that." Dark eyes roamed unabashedly over her still robe-clad form, knowing she couldn't see him indulging in the blatant exploration, but also knowing that she didn't have to. She was _feeling_ it instead; her body language—a tensing of shoulder blades and a tugging of fabric—made that fact _more_ than clear. "Oh, yes, _far_ too hot blooded." He all but purred it.

At this—_this_—she flinched. And he felt another surge of golden victory, victory that fueled a truly interesting—albeit sinister—thought. If only _looking_ roused this kind of response from her… imagine what something…_ more_ could do. He smirked evilly. Sure, it was underhanded, but it would _definitely_ work. Why the hell hadn't he thought of this before?

He set down the music box and moved toward her, a predatory grace to his movements.

As with his previous inspection of her, he could see the way her shoulders jumped slightly with every ominous 'tap' of his shoes against the hardwood floor, and he noted—with a prickling in his gut that he couldn't identify—the way her breathing sped as he neared. Not to the point of being ragged or blatant, mind you, but a half second tightening of exhales that spoke volumes of her apprehension… of her unease.

_And this was how it's supposed to be_, his mind reminded him. _Her_ on the teeter, _her_ in the role of the unsure, the unsettled… the affected. Only once in his life had he ever played that part. And even then he'd had foolish, idealistic enthusiasm to blame it on. How dare—_how dare_—this little nothing of a _girl_ even believe for a moment that she could force him to that same shaky edge. The edge he kept between him and that doomful path of emotions and… _feeling things_, of allowing for humanity, however slight, however out of practice, to break his surface of ice. He'd been there, done that. And it had ended up the same way most naive dreams do: in pieces. But, of course, even as his steps brought him closer to her, so close that his body hovered behind hers, only a breath between them, Lorenzo was aware that she knew nothing of what she roused in him. That the tiny girl in front of him, so near, so… _scared_, had no inkling of the emotions she brought forth. The frustration, the anger, the resentment, the bold, infuriating curiosity that baffled him, and then irritated him all over again. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair. She. Was. Nothing. But, yet…

At his side his hand twitched and his fingers curled. It was that damn 'yet' that kept tripping him up. There were no 'yets' in his line of work, no second guesses or second glances, just the people you wanted something from (i.e. Corinthos) and those you used up, plowed through, and bled dry to get it. And she was supposed to be one of those people. She was supposed to sit down, shut up, and tow the damn line, and he was supposed to tolerate her—_if_ he wanted, belittle her—_if_ he wanted, and dispose of her once the objective had been reached, as humanely or _in_humanely as he saw fit. What she _wasn't_ supposed to do was try and stand toe to toe with him, to flash her eyes indignantly, to laugh at him, to label him, to assume a goddamn thing about him. And he wasn't supposed to let her get to him. But he had. And he was tired of it. So far he'd played by the rules and all he'd gotten was mocked for it as she recklessly mowed down every single barrier he'd placed around her. Well, if _she_ wasn't going to play by the rules of this little engagement—then neither was he.

With the barest of smiles, Lorenzo reach out to her, fingers brushing against the soft flesh of her neck…

-----

Pedro followed the scene as it played out on bated breath. Even he, a man whose nature could not in a billion years _ever_ be considered romantic, could feel the pure heat that emanated from the room whose doorway he currently occupied--furtively of course. He clung to shadow as he watched Mr. Alcazar stalk toward the girl in liquid movements. And the guard/henchman/killer-on-command sucked in a breath when he saw his boss reach out and move the girl's mass of dark brown hair over her shoulder with one confident sweep, and then trail a steady hand down the back of her neck, while he ran his other hand intimately over the length of her arm.

His eyes bugged at the sight and Pedro retreated from the doorway. He almost felt like blushing, and he would have, had he not been, well, _him_. That moment he'd witnessed, the moment that was _progressing_ even as he leaned against the hallway wall and groped for his cell phone, was not at all what he expected to see when Miguel instructed him to keep an eye on Lorenzo. No, this was… _far more_ interesting than what he'd imagined, the guard mused. __

With a triumphant smirk, Pedro came up with his phone and quickly dialed a familiar number.

_Far more._

-----

"Are you kidding me?"

Jason, feeling just about the worst he could ever remember feeling, between the constant throb in his shoulder, the pulsating din of his ever-pounding head, and the ache in his chest that had not a damn thing to do with any physical injuries, cut a pair of unusually dull blue eyes to the man sitting next to him. "No, Sonny," he sighed. "I am not kidding you."

Sonny's own gaze flicked to the passing scenery of Cherry Lane, eyes darkening. "What are we doing here, Jason?"

The annoyance in Sonny's voice made Jason's jaw clench. "Do you not remember what we talked about at the hospital?" he shot back. "About me wanting to have a chat with your brother?"

"I was hoping it was the pain killers talking," Sonny mumbled into his hand.

He could feel it; the anger, the pure and raw frustration mounting so quickly it almost physically hurt. He didn't need this. His sister was gone and he didn't need to keep having the same stupid conversation with Sonny over, and over, and over. He didn't give a crap if Sonny had some unspoken truce going on with his whack job brother, or if that truce somehow prevented him from being rational—Jason couldn't afford to leave a single lead uninvestigated. And whether Sonny liked it or not, Ric was a viable lead. "He worked for Luis Alcazar, Sonny. You know this; I've said it all before, and if what you were preaching about back at the hospital held even an ounce of truth—"

Sonny leveled him with a warning glare. "You know it did."

"Well, then, this is your chance to prove it. Ric had a real connection to the Alcazars, something concrete."

The older man shook his head and stared broodingly at limo's tinted partition. "That was a long time ago, Jason."

"Don't you think I know that, Sonny?" Jason snapped. "I know that he's your… family--" Jason nearly choked on the word. "--and that you don't want to go stirring things up again. I _know_ that this could be nothing, Sonny… but it could also be _something_."

The Limo made its stop curbside of 55 Cherry Lane, the Lansing residence, and Jason never took his eyes of Sonny's profile. "Can you just please give me this chance, Sonny," Jason said imploringly. "Just let me see what I can get out of him. Please. For Emily."

It took a long, _long_ moment, but, with a stiff reluctance, Sonny gave the barest of nods. And that was all Jason needed.

-----

A flicker of movement registered on the monitor to Ric's left—the one mounted above his front door. A pair of tired, bloodshot, brown eyes pulled lazily to the screen, and Ric let loose a massive sigh at the two figures he saw approaching his porch. Jason… _and_ Sonny.

Yippee.

-----

Elizabeth trailed glumly behind a quietly talking Nikolas and Lucky as the trio approached the front steps to the PCPD. Lucky had shown up on her doorstep with the formally MIA Nikolas in tow about a half hour ago, much to her immense relief. She couldn't label what she'd felt when she saw them _both_ standing there, looking every bit as tired and beaten and unspeakably worried as her, that she'd kind of just fell forward into them. The embrace that met her was immediate and felt so much like a lifeline that it had honestly surprised her. But, then she supposed it shouldn't have. She'd been through hell and back with these people, and now one of them was missing and… and the only thing that made even an ounce of sense right now was being with them, the only ones that were left. And _only_ them. Even if she did feel like an utter villain for just up and deserting Ric, who, surprisingly enough, seemed genuinely affected by Emily's kidnapping.

_But that's just the kind of man he is,_ she told herself with a tiny, secret smile, remembering how her husband's strong arms had been like a permanent fixture around her since they'd gotten the news—a fact that had made leaving him a little more difficult than she'd expected. But, like Lucky had said, the three of them needed to stick together right now, just like how they had done the first time. Nothing but actually being able to see Emily again, with their own eyes, would ever make this a hundred percent okay, but, until that day came, Elizabeth had a feeling that being with Nikolas and Lucky was the only way any of them would survive this without losing it altogether. And so, with that thought firmly in mind, Elizabeth had left her house and her husband to go be proactive with what was left of the Four Musketeers.

And, apparently, her friends' idea of being proactive meant taking yet another trek to the police station. Personally, Elizabeth really didn't see the point (since Lucky had indeed been on the mark about Nikolas working with Sonny, going to the cops seemed kind of, well, pointless) but the boys were fixated, and if she'd learned anything about them after all these years of friendship, it was that stubbornness _definitely_ ran in the family. It would have been like talking to a wall, and well, she was _way_ too tired for that right now.

Since they'd left the house, Elizabeth had only caught snippets of their conversation, content enough to just let her own mind veer in their presence, happy that she felt safe and comfortable enough to do that. But, in between her mind's sad, reminiscent wanderings, she had managed to latch onto a few things. Something about a man named Andy, a plane that left town early this morning, and a screwy flight plan. But it wasn't until Elizabeth's ears met with the word "Alcazar", that Mrs. Lansing decided the present was most definitely the best place for her to be.

With a furled brow she leaned forward and tugged sharply on Nikolas' shirt sleeve. "Wait—A-Alcazar?" she asked, more than a little peeved at the squirm in her words, however justified it might have been. "But I thought—I mean, isn't he, like, _dead_?"

"It's a new one," Lucky supplied with a frown. "And if Sonny's men are right, it looks like kidnapping just might be a favorite Alcazar family pastime."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Sonny thinks that this new Alcazar guy took Em?" They boys nodded and she sighed. Heavily. "Then what are we doing _here_?" she demanded, exasperated, slim hands gesturing to their surroundings. "If you already know who did it then we're just wasting time in this place!"

Nikolas sighed and let a calming hand fall on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Sonny told us to come down here, Liz. We're trying to do out part here."

This only served to confuse her further. Sonny? _Willfully_ sending people to cooperate with _cops_? Okay, when exactly did she enter the Twilight Zone, and where in the hell was the exit door? "You do realize that none of this makes sense, right?" she asked them, eyes flitting between their faces, faces that for a moment drew into understanding smiles.

"Yes, we realize, Liz," Lucky said gently. "We _definitely_ realize. But we've still have to check in with Mac and see how things are going down here. It's what Sonny wanted and if we want to stay involved in his search, then we need to just do what he asks and not make any waves. Okay?"

"I guess…" she nodded, but, honestly, she really didn't understand at all.

Nikolas gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Come on, let's just get this over with," he said, beginning to cut a path down the busy hall. "The sooner it's done, the sooner we can get moving on something that's actually useful."

Lucky nodded and moved in step behind his brother, but, suddenly, Elizabeth didn't feel much like a chat with the Commissioner. "You know what?" she said, stopping the pair before they got any further down the hallway. "I think I'm just going to wait out here." She gestured to a wooden bench behind her and smiled. "You two go in and get your… details, or whatever. I'll just hang back."

Concern clouded their eyes, and Lucky and Nikolas moved back to her. "What's wrong?" Nikolas asked. "Why don't you want to come in with us?"

"Is it that you're…I don't know, _afraid_ of what he'll say or something?" Lucky ventured gently.

Elizabeth's eyes sank to the floor guiltily. "Well, no… not exactly. I just…" her voice trailed off as she fumbled with herself. "Okay, well, maybe a little," She admitted, daring to lookup at them again. "I'm just not in the mood to hear another one of Mac's 'we'll get her back' speeches, all right. Because that's all he's going to give us, Lucky, and right now… right now I just don't think I can deal with that. It's empty. Well-intention, yes, but empty just the same. I'd much rather be hearing it come from Sonny or Jason. At least that way I know it's got real feeling and weight behind it."

"Liz, Mac's not going to—"

"Just go, you two. I'll be fine out here."

"Are you sure," they asked in unison.

She smiled and gave a nod. "I'm sure."

That seemed to satisfy them, and the boys turned and walked off down the corridor to Mac's new office. Once they were out of sight, Elizabeth let out a sigh and took that seat on the wooden bench. It was butt up against a wall dotted with offices, and she settled into it, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes to the beehive of activity buzzing around her. Part of her wanted to go see Mac—just incase she'd been wrong—but another, bigger part was just plain old relieved that she'd dodged it. If anything Earth shattering—good or… bad—had happened, Lucky and Nikolas would tell her, and she preferred it that way.

"Somethin' up, Joe?"

Elizabeth's eyes drifted open at the voice. She looked to the left—where she supposed the voice had come from—and expected to see the speaker, but instead only saw that regular flurry of people rushing to and fro. Her brow furrowed. The voice had sounded so close. Almost like it was… And then it dawned in her. Leaning forward, she snaked her gaze up, brown eyes landing on a row of louvered windows above her head. _It must have come from in there_, she thought.

And then she heard another voice, this one meatier, and more guff. It echoed gravely through the open louvers.

"That was just Bonasera on the phone," the voice, presumably Joe, said. "Apparently, we got no forced entry."

Curiosity and boredom getting the best of her, Elizabeth arched her back just so, and waited with casually poised ears for the next volley of the conversation. _There's nothing better to do out here anyway_, she reasoned mischievously as she craned her neck upward to listen. _Might as well entertain myself_.

"What?" the other one croaked. "How is that even possible? The Terrace is like frigging Fort Knocks—ain't nobody getting' in that ain't supposed to unless they do some major Bash and Bolt."

_Terrace? That's Emily's building. They're talking about Em's case…_ Elizabeth's ears perked up greedily and she tilted her head to the side, straining to get a better hold on what the detectives were saying.

"I know, I know," Joe said with a sigh. "But Bonasera said that the front entrance wasn't tampered with. Not a scratch on the gate or any sign of the tech being messed with on the keypad. But, here's the interesting part, man, she said the code tenants use to get inside the front gate is _tenant specific_ and, like, top secret fucking information. This is state of the art stuff. I understand why Morgan put his sister up there—the place is supposed to be a fortress. Only the management office and the individual tenants are allowed to know these codes, which, also happen to be revolving—stripped, randomized, and reissued every two days at 8pm, four hours prior to the actual rollover for security reasons. And just _guess_ which code Bonasera found in the gate's entry records at the time of the abduction?"

"The girl's?" the other man asked.

"Right in one, Danny my boy. 52569—" Elizabeth's stomach gave a nauseated jump. That was the code Emily had given her to use last night, the code _she'd_ given to… "—that code was copied into the security system database at 1:07am—approximately an hour after the code rolled, and, according to the girl's bodyguard, about when she hit the hay, leading me to believe that either the guys that scooped the Quatermaine girl were freakin' clairvoyant, or that somebody gave our boys a little helping hand."

"Yeah, obviously, but who, Joe? Who the hell would be crazy enough to lead kidnappers straight to _Jason Morgan's_ kid sister? It's suicide."

"Well, I mean, yeah, Morgan and Corinthos are pretty damn formidable and all that, but lets not forget that amassing enemies is just the sort of thing these types do best. And getting that code? Hell, throw enough money at somebody or stick a nice shiny glock in a guys neck and there's no door that isn't open to you. And, if you wanted my opinion, I'd tell you that, judging by the bang up job that crew did on Morgan and O'Brien, this had nothing to do with the Q-girl or her money. Whoever did this had only one thing on their mind: Corinthos…and how to break the bastard."

Elizabeth bit her lip near to the point of drawing blood as a silence fell between the two detectives. She closed her eyes and waited, waited desperately for one to say to the other something—_anything_—that would take away the curdling of doubt in her gut, that would dispel the horrible, implausible, _irrational_, bubbling of uncertainty that she could feel niggling at the corners of her mind, allowing her to entertain thoughts that no good, self-respecting, _loyal_ wife should ever dream of entertaining… Mercifully, after a long moment, the pregnant silence was broken by the one named Danny, and Elizabeth once again latched onto their words from her perch outside their office.

"Okay, so we got the motivation for the bagging, now I say we hit the management office first to get a lock on the 'who' part. That's the most logical point of origin for the breach."

Before Joe could answer, the shrill buzz of a telephone erupted inside the office. It was answered on the second ring and all Elizabeth could make out were a few unintelligible grunts of agreement, followed by a deflated sound 'see, ya'.

"Well, there went _that_ bubble," Joe groaned. "That was Garrick. He and Marshal already went the management route. Garrick said that they got a head start on the interviews a couple hours ago, just got out now. They rounded up a group of four shift employees and the actual security manager himself, who, according to Garrick, was the only guy on shift when the new number sequences were randomized by the security system at eight o'clock last night. He says the guy handed 'em out--" Elizabeth's mind, swimming at this point, flashed back to the nice, elderly man that had showed up at Emily's Penthouse last night to give her the new gate code. The gate code that _she_ had in turn had relayed to… Elizabeth's gut clenched violently. "—and then called it a day, left the surveillance to the night watchmen, and headed home."

Danny snorted. "All that tech creating a freakin' modern-day castle for God's sake, and the integrity of it all comes down to a pimply-faced, Police Academy dropout toting a Mag-Lite." He exhaled gruffly. "Goddamn tragedy, that is…"

"I hear, ya," Joe sympathized through a sigh. "But at least Garrick and Marshal came up with something. No we know that the leak couldn't have come from the management end."

"Wait—what about _after_ he packed it in? Did Garrick ask him if he got stopped on the way home, threatened or anything?"

"Nothing. The manager guy, ah… Lenny Morawitz, said he got in a cab a little ways up the block and then from there it was a straight shot home. He didn't give that code to anybody but Emily Quatermaine, Dan. It had to have been obtained after the fact."

"You're not thinking inside job here are you?"

"Damn straight I am. I don't know what other avenues we got here."

Elizabeth's breathing quickened at this, and she skimmed a hand over the ever rising twitch of unease in her stomach.

"Got anybody concrete in mind?"

"Well, there is that bodyguard, I guess, but let's face it, the guy almost friggin' bought it trying to save the Quatermaine girl. I think that says enough about his character, _and_ his loyalties."

"You can't be too sure, Joe. Maybe the guy got backed into a corner by some of Morgan and Corinthos' enemies, gave up the code, and then grew a conscience last minute and tried to rectify his fuck-up."

"You know what? I don't buy it. I mean, you were there, Dan, didn't you see the look in O'Brien's eyes? The guy's reeling. My guess is that he really cares about her. Why the hell would he clear a path for a bunch of thugs and then let it all go sour? Even _if_ he survived the backlash from the kidnappers, Morgan would personally strap a bag of bricks to around his ankles and dump the poor bastard in the river. No," Joe said with conviction. "They didn't get the code from him."

"Okay," the one named Danny sighed. "So, if the leak didn't come from Management _or_ the bodyguard, who in the holy hell does that leave us with?"

Joe let out a gruff laugh, his chair squeaking something wicked as he presumably got to his feet again. "I don't have a clue, pal. But I say we stop chatting about this and get to work already before the Wonder Twins clear this thing without us. Let's hammer out a timeline, start laying a net, and get a list of people who came in contact with her after 8pm last night."

"You wanna start by shaking some trees over at the girl's family; see what falls out? I mean, I know it probably ain't much…"

"It sure as hell ain't, but right now it's all we got." There was a deep sigh, a ruffling of papers, and then: "Come on; shake a leg, Danny Boy, we got some miracles to work."

She then heard the sudden scuffle of shoes across linoleum and panicked; she slid down to the far end of the bench and tried desperately to look innocent as the two detectives exited the office and closed the door behind them. One of them—older with a bushy head of graying hair, probably Joe—smiled kindly at her as he passed. She smiled back, but her heart wasn't in it. No, because in that instant their words began to replay, rattling off hauntingly inside her head...

_'…Somebody gave our boys a little helping hand…'_

_'…Who the hell would be crazy enough to lead kidnappers straight to Jason Morgan's kid sister…?'_

_'…So, if the leak didn't come from Management or the bodyguard, what in the holy hell does that leave us with…?'_

_'…It had to have been obtained after the fact…'_

_'…You're not thinking inside job here, are you…?'_

_'…Whoever did this had only one thing on their mind: Corinthos…and how to break the bastard…'_

And then, finally, her husband's voice blew across her mind like a stiff, sobering wind.

'……_Why don't you just give me the code and I'll let myself in. That way you can relax with Emily and the others until I get there……'_

_But he never _did_ get there, _a tiny, cruel voice taunted her, _did he? No. He called right back._ _Rattled off some slapped together excuse that you _knew_ was a lie. You did just what he wanted, _the voice prodded again, sounding like Carly for some absurd reason_. You ignored what your gut said and played right into his hands, didn't you, Lizzie? _

_Didn't you?_

Shaking hands clamped over a face stricken with disbelief, and sent ashen by the unthinkable. Elizabeth chocked back a sob.

_Oh, God…_

-----

**TBC…**

**(a/n)** Are you still with me? I didn't put you to sleep with the sheer hugeass-ness of the chap, did I? Wouldn't blame you if I did; I think this bad-boy set some sort of record or something, lol.. Anyway, mucho thanks to all of you for seeing this installment all the way though, even down here. You al kick much ass. :o) On with the note…

She's putting it together!!! Liz is figuring it out!!! (even if I did do it in a totally played out way that just screams "plot device!!") lol Imagine, she'll actually piece together the truth without being slapped in the face with it (remember how long it took her to figure out the Carly/Panic Room bit. Liz had to practically trip over Carly-Babes before she got her 'Eureka' moment). And yup, Liz will figure everything out—but it won't play out like how you think (or at least I hope not). And what did you guys think of Sonny being the one dishing out the wake-up call for once? LOL. I know that was a total switch—character wise—but it just _had_ to be done. Jason needed to be set straight. He was getting too deep into this "Only I can save her" crap that I think Sonny was probably the only one who could get him to realize that, _dude_, it ain't only about you, that it's really _not_ admitting defeat or being less of a big brother to allow others to help out. Anyway, I think I finally fixed Jason's tunnel-vision.

Let's see, what else… Oh! The Elena stuff is going to begin its unraveling. More of the back story will be revealed, and for those of you who commented on how you enjoy the storyline parallels—look for more. Oh, and about Lorenzo's slightly… _lecherous behavior_… I hope it wasn't too over the top, but I felt it needed to be in there. IMO, the way he handled that moment was very un-Lorenzo, but then very Lorenzo at the same time (confusing much?). He was rattled by Emily touching the Music box and kind of, well, really pissed off by her comments and unwillingness to wilt at his outburst, not to mention the fact that she got him to even _have_ an outburst to begin with, so, he lashed out by playing the sex card—a card he knew would be golden. Don't hate him. It's all going towards establishing the bond between them. And there will be a bond. And, also, I'm very sorry for leaving you all hanging on this one… the next chap will kick start with them. Promise!

And, lastly, I know I complain about my stuff a lot, but I please don't think I'm doing it to get the sympathy compliment or to solicit praise—because I'm not. It's just that I read and reread this stuff so many times that by the time its ready for post, I'm just _damn_ sick of it. It's like I can't read it without laughing my ass off. Do you know what I mean? Anyway, I promise, from here on out, no more dissing my own work. I'll write, type and post and hope for the best—no explanations and no excuses. :o)

Next Chapter:

Bye for now and don't forget to review!!! See ya! Loke


	12. Shake and Shiver

**(a/n): **Apology time.It's been way too long since I updated this and I can't tell you all how sorry I am about that. I could list a bunch of reasons why it took me so damn long, citing a hectic personal life and all that, but the real truth of the matter is that while, yes, there is only so much time I can devote to my writings, an utter lack of inspiration and one of the most severe cases of writers block I have ever encountered attacked me with fervor over these past few months. This chapter has been pure hell for me. It's undergone several rewrites and is only being posted now because I absolutely refused to try and tweak it any more. I was driving myself insane with all my fretting.

**To My Reviewers: **

**Shamira:** ::faints:: ::picks herself off the floor and points, taken aback:: You're _alive_! We're BOTH alive! Isn't this cool? LOL. Seriously though, bounced myself right out of my seat when I saw that you'd reviewed – I totally had not been expecting that, but it made my morning nonetheless. And about not reviewing TF in like forever—I'll try to be better. I have been reading to catch up when I get the time, but haven't had the opportunity yet to really sit down and do a good review. But hopefully since I've posted this thing _finally_, I'll have more time to keep up with the fics I love. And The Fallout remains one of my very favorites :o). Thank you SO MUCH for reviewing!! I missed you! :D

**Alleycat: **peeks out Okay, so, like, um….. I'M SORRY!!!! ::cries:: Making you wait this long and forcing you to submit 4 reviews, one even asking if I had met with an unfortunate end, was totally unforgivable. I beg for your forgiveness, and promise (on my cat's life. The one I actually like too) that I will NEVER make you wait 4 months for an update again. So, just, you know, read on and I hope it meets with your approval. Sincerely, Loke, the Ashamed One. (So, what do you think? Sufficient groveling or what? LOL. Let me know if not :P)

**Girlfearless: **Wow, you know what's funny? When you reviewed this chapter, we barley knew each other. Sure we reviewed mutually and whatnot, but now we've gotten to know each other a lot better. And without getting totally sentimental and sappy (I'm so not that kind of person), I just wanted to thank you in this space for helping me find my footing again when I'd run to you with all my little freak-outs, and for totally letting me vent off you with all my rants. You rock, girl. Thanks a million :o) --Loke

**Bushlaboo: **Twinnie (aw, come on, I had to do it _once_! LOL)—okay, Marian, or Mo 'cause its just plain easier to type when I'm in a hurry like now :P, thank you so, so much for what you said regarding my original characters. I love to write original stories as well so to hear that you appreciate my OCs is really awesome. And also, everything I said to Christy up there, it totally goes for you, too. You've been such an enormous help to me and I'm so grateful that you took the time to give me those history lessons, lol. Also, thank you for having so much in common with me—LOL! It was so cool to find out how many viewpoints we share. You're the best, Twinnie! (Okay, so I used it twice. Sue me.) :D

**Cindy Ryan: **Thank you so much for the review! :)

**Abhi: **Thank you!

And, to all the other readers out there who have remained patient with me (alleycat, I still count you as patient, don't worry. I mean, you didn't hunt me down and kick my ass, right? I think that qualifies as patient.), thank you so much for hanging with me here, and for waiting out my inexcusable absence. You all rock my socks, I swear! :D

And now, without further ado:

**Somewhere in Between**

**----- **

**Chapter Twelve: shake and shiver**

**------**

Emily's heart stopped. Her mind stopped. Hell, even her breathing stopped. Everything. Just. _Stopped_.

Everything except for his hands.

And with every ounce of will power she possessed, Emily tried not to shudder at the feel of his fingers dragging a path down her neck, of them curling around unruly hair and sweeping it to the side, at the sudden explosion of his warm breath against the naked column of her throat. Mother of God she _tried_.

But she failed. Miserably.

And the sickened knot in her gut only seemed to get heavier with every second that ticked sluggishly away, with every ghostly pass of Lorenzo's fingertips over the bare skin of her arm… down the curve of her spine…

_This isn't right_, her mind told her—no _screamed_ at her. She should move. She should do something—_anything_! But a cold, paralyzing fist of shock had seized her utterly and all Emily could do was stand there. She'd pushed, defied, and goaded this one moment to fruition—it was all she could think. She'd been the headstrong fool she always was, and had done just the opposite of what Jason would have wanted her to do: she relentlessly tested the boundaries of a man she knew nothing of—nothing except just how far he'd go to further his own ends. What did she expect would happen? Emily didn't know, but, still, foolishly, she couldn't help the stricken voice in her mind that screamed _'not this!'_.

Rage, threats on her life, on the lives of those she loved—_that's_ what she had expected. But this… _this_ hadn't come into her thinking in any way and as Emily felt what could only have been the tickle of his _beard_ on her _neck_, she was all of a sudden confronted painfully with the sheer vastness of her own naivety. Her breathing quickened as Fate seemed to narrow the path before her, darkening it inch by inch as all outcomes for this moment—save the most terrifying one she could imagine—slowly fell away. And through her mind flashed agonizing images of Elizabeth's face in that broom closet so many years ago, of the immobilizing _horror_ that gaped back her as her friend uttered those mind-bending words… _he raped me…_

Emily's eyes welled in spite of her best efforts to keep the tears at bay, her throat closing off painfully. Was _that_ what awaited her now? When she finally got back to her family… to Jason, would that _look—_wounded, broken, _destroyed—_be what they saw…what _he_ saw? Was that her fate? To be shoved head first into a never-ending torrent of sorrowful glances and knowing, _pitying_ stares?

Inwardly, her stomach churned at the idea and she rebelled violently against it. _No! I _won't_ be his victim. He doesn't have the right. He has no power here. All you have to do is move, Emily, just—_

All thought fled from her as Lorenzo's arm encircled her waist, a palm flattened against the taut surface of her abdomen shutting out the last, precious breath of space between them as he drew her body against his.

--

He'd expected her to move. To rip away from him and recoil in disgust… but she _hadn't_. No, instead he felt her pulse race beneath his fingertips, and then a ragged shudder of fear—_what else could it have been?—_echo through her slight body before she went perfectly still. Like a possum playing dead. And, dimly, Lorenzo realized he should have used that as cause to step away from her and from this twisted ploy.

But he couldn't.

Because, see, it seemed the arms dealer had discovered a rather unexpected byproduct of his attempt at cerebral warfare—his own game had fallen in upon him. And he couldn't help but think he should have seen this coming, preposterous a notion as it was.

See, Lorenzo was no fool. He knew all the ways in which a woman could be manipulated, bent to his will and made to conform. He knew that words and sweet promises, quiet and deceptively genuine, worked for some, while a stern and vicious tongue that issued forth promises of a different sort proved quelling for others. But there also was another method, one as old as time itself. And putting it to use could be tricky. Play it just right, and in your hands you'd have a woman who was precisely the right amount of obedient. Come on too strong and you may terrify your mark into actually believing that you harbor malicious intent. But sway too much the other way, overcompensate, and your plan-of-attack loses bite, and you run the risk of falling into unfavorable territory—of being labeled a letch or a pig by an especially _spunky_ woman. All in all it was a terribly risky game. But Lorenzo was out of options when it came to Emily. He'd tried everything else and defiance had slapped him cold across the face at every turn. So, in a moment of pure insanity, Lorenzo allowed anger, frustration, and plain loss of good sense to drive him forward on shaky and uncertain ground. And the result he was met with proved most disturbing of all.

The trap he'd set for Emily, the tiny brunette that was so close he could _smell_ her—a soft, fragrant lingering of roses and vanilla—had ensnared him as well. The invasive presence of his body behind hers, the feeling of his hands buried in the liquid silk of her hair as he uncovered her ivory skin, the undisguised hitch to her breathing when his seeking fingers first touched her—he _liked_ it. _More_ than liked it.

The discovery stirred something in him, a sudden tightening of his gut. His aim had been to affect her, to remove her annoying confidence, and what had happened instead? Lorenzo found his world narrowing, melting away at the edges as all thoughts of intimidation faded into a suddenly vicious and blinding need to sink into her, into her presence, into the true and honest warmth that thrummed with life just under his fingertips.

Time stilled, and he forgot where he was. He couldn't hear and he couldn't see. All that mattered was touch, feeling his way through the dark curtain that had been lowered between him and precious reasoning, between him and sanity, it seemed. A hand brushed its way down her side, winding artfully around her form as he dragged her backward. When she connected with him, the curved plain of her back pressed against his chest and held there by a flattened hand, the girl shuddered within the halo of his arms, deep and stirring. And Lorenzo's eyes slipped closed as he savored the feel.

--

And when she felt the solid warmth of his chest pressed tightly against her back, it proved sobering. Yes, Alcazar did have power, oodles of it evidently. But this was different. This was more than a show of that power or a play for it… or something else. This went beyond trying to prove a point or the simple sending of a message. This was…

_Bullshit_.

Utter and complete _bullshit_.

Emily rolled the private declaration around in her head as all former shock melted clear away, making room for the purest surge of anger she'd felt since turning that pretty little vase to dust.

She had never, in all her life, yielded to someone else's whims just because the outlook for her was bleak, and she sure as hell wasn't going to start now. She had no idea what it would get her in the end, or even if it would make a damn bit a difference, but she'd be tagged and bagged before she ever let… _whatever_ this was, just _happen_. It—_she_—was clearly a game to him. But here was a little piece of information Emily hoped he choked on: she wasn't gonna play.

No _freakin'_ way.

Steeling her nerves and stroking down the _seriously_ pissed-off beast within, Emily went against her immediate impulse reaction of embedding her elbow in his gut, and leaned back into Lorenzo, instead, her jaw clenched so tightly it made her teeth hurt. Turning her face toward his, she noted the surprised hitch to his breath and savored it. Stupid jerk thought he'd get her flustered, play the sex card, invade her personal space, and intimidate her into being the perfect little captive. Well, he'd almost succeeded at it, too. But everybody knows 'almost' doesn't count.

Now was no exception.

_"Get your hands off me." _

------------

_(This segment is operating under the idea that cops aren't allowed to give classified case information to civilians. You know, like in the _real_ world. ::rollseyes::)_

"So," a righteously ticked Nikolas said to Police Commissioner Mac Scorpio. "What you're saying is that you _do_ know something, but that you can't tell us what that something is? Is that what I'm hearing?"

Mac lowered his head and pressed a little deeper into the confines of his desk chair. He really, really didn't care for this part of the job.

Did they know more about the kidnapping? Yes. Hell yes.

Contrary to popular opinion, the department wasn't completely overrun with, loud-mouthed, fame-seeking, pompous assholes like Scott Baldwin. There actually were hard-working, dedicated and _competent_ people employed by the PCPD. And those men had, indeed, done their duty and constructed a rather sound time-frame of events for the kidnapping/shooting, as well as unearthed a set of narrowed leads for parties involved, or potential parties involved, as it was.

But could he tell these two young men that? No. Hell no.

Not that he didn't want to, because he sort of did. But department procedure was an obstinate bitch, and he was forced to dole out cookie-cutter placations and department issue smiles instead of cold facts, no matter how much he wished otherwise. And looking at Spencer and Cassadine _really_ made him wish otherwise, even if ever fiber of his cop being told him that the first place they'd go with any acquired information would be straight to Sonny Corinthos' doorstep. Oddly enough, in this instance, that didn't really bother him too much. This was, after all, a case that had tugged seriously on Mac's heart. Emily was a nice girl, despite who her family was, and Mac wanted that nice, sweet, little girl to be back home with said family, even if they were a pack of lying, manipulative back-biters—save Lila. But giving Lucky and Nikolas anymore than what every other aggrieved friend-of-the-victim got was utterly out of the question. It reeked, but that was just how it was. Bureaucracy could be a real pain in the ass.

"I'm sorry you two," Mac said solemnly. "I really am, but I cannot comment on the details of an active investigation. My guys need to be allowed to do their jobs."

"Do their jobs?" Lucky's indignance rebounded off the cramped office's cluttered walls. "If the cops had done their _jobs_ to begin with, it wouldn't have taken them nearly _twenty minutes_ to get to Em's building! Maybe if they'd been a little faster in responding to Sonny's 911 call, they could have gotten a tail on that van before it disappeared completely! If your 'guys' had been 'doing their jobs', Mac, there's a good chance we wouldn't even be here right now."

Mac sighed. True, response time had been less than desirable, but that was strictly a mechanical error; the department's radio systems were ancient, like most smaller districts' were, and the network had suffered a minor blink at the time of the call. Mac guessed the dispatch snafu made them miss maybe five minutes at very the most. It wasn't as bad as Spencer made it sound, but it still wasn't good. Not by any means.

"I realize that there was a delay in dispersing pursuit units and I addressed this during the press conference, but—"

"You mean you covered it up," Lucky sniped.

Lucky may have held a heavy dislike for the police force of Port Charles, courtesy of his father, but right now it was purely his anger and frustration of being kept out of the loop talking, and Mac was aware of that. Regardless of how it came out, Mac knew Lucky wasn't launching a personal attack, and that's why Mac swallowed his first reaction, and, instead, took a deep, calming breath. "You know what, Lucky? We could sit here while you hurl criticisms at me and this department all day long, we really could. But it's not going to change the fact that I cannot, no matter how much you may want me to, divulge information pertaining to the case. Have we made headway since last night? Yes. Can I share any of those details with you and your brother? Unfortunately, no, I can't do that. And even when I can further brief Emily's family, I'm sorry, but you two won't be included in that."

Nikolas bristled at this. "What do you mean we won't be included? We're her friends, Mac; we want to know what's going on."

"I know you do. Believe me, I know. But you said it yourself, Nikolas. You're her _friends_, not her family."

Lucky gawped at him like he'd just stabbed the boy in the heart. "Like hell we're not her family! She means more to us than you could ever know. We have a right to—"

Mac held up a hand and silenced Lucky's tirade. "Actually, Lucky, you don't have the right. Not here." At the identical looks of barely suppressed rage that passed across the faces of Laura's boys, Mac sighed. He hadn't always been so nice to them when either had managed to land in one of his holding cells or interrogation rooms, but they were good kids at their core. Good kids who were both very worried about someone they loved a great deal. He could definitely sympathize with the desperation they felt. Bracing himself with another deep breath, Mac looked gravely between the two.

"Look," he said heavily. "I must have already said this about a million times today, but we are doing everything in our power to find her, guys. I have every available presence in the department attached to this. I'm working them round the clock. And until Emily is found—and she _will_ be—and her kidnapper brought to justice that, regrettably, is all I can offer you two. I am genuinely sorry, but as civilians and non-family members, I'm just not allowed to give you anything else. My hands are tied. In all honesty, we shouldn't even be having this conversation right now."

He hadn't expected his speech to be well received. And it wasn't.

With a sneer, Lucky got to his feet. "Then, by all means, Commish, we won't keep you any longer." Lucky put a hand on Nikolas' shoulder, who, in Mac's opinion looked the worse for wear between the two. "Come on, Nik," Lucky said, eyes dead set on Mac. "Let's get the hell out of here. We should have known better than to think that anything the cops had to say was worth a damn. It never is."

Without much hesitation, Nikolas rose and followed his brother stoically out of Mac's office.

Mac sighed and leaned back into his chair with closed eyes. He needed a damn vacation.

-----

The door to Mac's office had barely closed before Lucky let loose the Luke-like string of expletives.

Too tired, defeated, and just plain worried to even bother feigning surprise, Nikolas just sighed at his younger brother's outburst and ignored the shocked faces that dotted the squad room. Lucky would always be Lucky, and right now that Lucky was just as frustrated as he was. Nikolas couldn't blame the guy for cursing a blue-streak in public. Hell, if thought it'd do anything, Nikolas would be letting the curses fly himself—and he knew _way_ more than Lucky did. Being multi-lingual was good for more than just foreign business dealings and hob-knobbing with the aristocratic elite.

"Well that was a big goddamn waste of time, wasn't it?" Lucky all but growled, still trying to calm himself down. Usually—well, _recently_—he'd been a little better at keeping his cool on the day to day. But this wasn't exactly the day to day. As he figured, he was sort of allowed, and was glad his brother seemed to agree, or at least be keeping his opinions to himself. They were both so stretched… mothering each other right now might not be all that well received, or render the most… agreeable outcome. It wasn't what Liz and… Emily—Lucky's gut plummeted viciously at just the thought of her—would call 'socially acceptable behavior', but they were guys, and they were stupid like that.

"It certainly didn't get us anywhere," Nikolas said, leaning his weight against the wall behind them.

"Oh, sure it did," Lucky huffed, running a hand through his already mussed head of hair, not that it was ever anything but. "It got us out from underfoot." He threw an arched eyebrow his brother's way. "You do realize that was the reason for this worthless trip, don't you? Sonny's just humoring us so we don't feel useless while he's out doing the _real_ work." Lucky shook his head and slumped against the wall next to Nikolas. "It's pathetic, man. Straight-up pathetic. He's treating us like kids."

And Nikolas knew that was the truth. He knew it and he hated it, but what other choice were they left with? It may have killed the Cassadine in him to take orders and run around on inconsequential missions like an errand boy, but if it meant they could stay in the know when it came to Sonny's search for Emily, then Nikolas, Russian royalty or not, would do whatever it took.

"Well, Lucky," Nikolas said, pushing off the wall and righting himself. The time for self-pitying was far passed. They had to play the hand they were dealt, simple as that. "I know it's not as glamorous as what Andy Venetti and Stan are doing right now, but in light of our… conversation with Mac, I'd say that Sonny is not only our best option, but that he's also our _only_ option. Unless of course you'd like to wait around here for more of what Mac's got to offer us…"

"Hell no," Lucky fired back, pushing off the wall at Nikolas's side and forcing the defeat out of his straight-backed stance. "I'm starting to wish I'd avoided the first round altogether. I think Elizabeth had the right idea."

"Speaking of which," Nikolas said, mention of the small brunette reminding him that the poor thing had been waiting for them all by herself in the bowels of this godforsaken building for nearly twenty-five minutes. "We better go tell her we're done; she's probably losing her mind by now."

Lucky nodded enthusiastically. "Good, I can't wait to get the hell out of this place. I swear it gives me the hives." He hiked up his sleeve and offered up his forearm as evidence, scratching at what indeed was a red patch. "See. What the hell _is_ that? I didn't have that earlier."

Nikolas, miraculously, managed a laugh. "It's called anxiety, Lucky. It has funny ways of manifesting itself sometimes, and, considering how things are right now, I'm surprised we aren't both covered in welts."

Lucky shoved his shirt sleeve back down with a grimace. "Well, whatever it is, I want to get far away from it. Why don't you go pull the car out of the lot, I'll grab Liz and we'll meet you at the front."

Nikolas nodded and left. Lucky headed off in the opposite direction.

-----

For Elizabeth, it seemed the world had stopped turning. The only thing that existed was a small, maniacal voice that rattled on and on in her head, and the questions it asked that made her stomach clench and her vision blur.

_You ignored what your gut said and played right into his hands, didn't you, Lizzie? _

_Didn't you?_

No, no, no, no, no, NO. This… It… _couldn't_ be right. The information from the cops, they just had to be mistaken. There had to have been someone else, another factor, and another way the code was obtained. There just…_had_ to be. For the sake of everything right and true in her universe, what she was thinking, where she was allowing her mind to wander, to even _consider_, it all had to be wrong.

She clenched her eyes closed and prayed to God it was.

Ric—her _husband_, he was a good man. Not without his flaws, his demons, but… he would never do…

Elizabeth took a deep breath to stave off a gag. God, she couldn't even think it without becoming ill. That had to count for something. It had to. Her husband couldn't do this to her… to Emily.

At her friends name hot tears welled in Elizabeth's eyes and her throat seized shut.

No, Ric knew how much Emily meant to her, how much she loved her. A few months ago she may have believed something like this of him, but Ric said it himself: His feud with Sonny was over. Dead. He was moving past it. Trying to pick up the pieces again. And even with the miscarriage…

At this, a sickening thought rolled through Elizabeth's mind. _What if that's it? What if Ric still blames Sonny for the… baby?_ Elizabeth skimmed a hand over her stomach, protective fingers splaying out over where her child would have been growing if it hadn't been for that horrible night. _What…what if Ric lied and he _wasn't_ trying to let his war with Sonny go? What if this, if Emily, was his… revenge?_

A hand landed on her shoulder and Elizabeth, ripped brutally from her thoughts, nearly shot through the roof. Heart racing, mind a frantic jumble, she looked up and saw Lucky standing beside her, seeming alarmed.

"Whoa, calm down," he said, palms out as he inched closer. "It's just me. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," she denied breathlessly.

Lucky's brows furled. "Uh… yeah, I did."

"No, I was just… you surprised me that's all."

"Liz, if you'd jumped any higher I'd be scraping you off the ceiling." He placed a hand on her arm. "Are you okay?"

_Okay?,_ she snapped silently. _Am I okay?! Um, NO! I was deep in thought trying to convince myself that my husband didn't hand my best friend over to psychotic killers on a silver platter last night. No, Lucky, I'm a lot of things right now, _okay_ ain't one of them._

But, somehow, that didn't sound like an acceptable response, so, instead, Elizabeth looked Lucky straight in his concerned eyes and fibbed her butt off. She felt bad about lying, but she didn't see any other option. The things in her head right now were totally off-the-mark speculation, but if she so much as breathed a word of her… suspicions to Lucky or Nikolas, they would take it right to Sonny and Jason. And _that_… No, she thought resolutely. This was all still so new, so outrageous; she couldn't let that happen… not without knowing more.

"It's just this place," she answered him; careful to make her words and tone just the right amount of shaken. Not exactly a challenge. "Being here brought back memories of last time. I thought I could handle it, but…"

As she trailed, strong arms came around her as they had thousands of times before in their past. Lucky held her close, his chin rested on the top of her head. Elizabeth couldn't help but lean into his warmth, drawing comfort from him, even if he had no idea for what at the moment.

"It's gonna be okay, Liz," he whispered. "Emily came home then and she'll come home now. We won't rest until she does. I swear we'll find who took her. Find them and make them pay."

Lucky's voice took on a bitter, determined tone and Elizabeth flinched. _Find them and make them pay. _Instinctively, she hugged Lucky closer. Oh, God, how could this actually be happening?

"Hey," he said, noticing the sudden tightening of her arms around him. "Are you okay?"

Elizabeth reluctantly pulled back and had every intention of forcing a weak smile to put Lucky at ease, but immediately lost heart to do so when she looked in Lucky's eyes. Soft brown orbs meeting hers with such concern and love, it was all she could do not to crumble right there. She closed her eyes and sighed. "I want to go home, Lucky. Please just take me home."

Lucky looked confused. "But I thought you wanted to come with us to Sonny's?"

Liz shook her head in protest, arms now wrapped around herself. She knew how strange her behavior was and completely weird her sudden change of mind must have seemed to him, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't go to Sonny's now. Not with all these… thoughts rolling around her head. There'd be no possible way she could look Sonny and—oh, God—_Jason_ in the eye believing that her husband may have somehow contributed to this catastrophe. No, what she needed was to go home. She needed to see Ric, to try and figure things out and find some way to make this all just a really horrible coincidence. She had no idea how she'd even go about it, but she had to do _something_. This, it just _couldn't_ be right. The cops had to be mistaken, and the voice in her mind had to be just a cruel apparition. All she had to do was go home, lay eyes on her husband, the man that loved her with everything he was, and then all of this ugliness would go away and she'd be able to forget ever entertaining such ridiculous ideas and focus instead on getting Emily home so that everything could go back to the way it was yesterday.

Life _would_ find normal again.

And all she'd have to do was go home. Just go home and see her husband.

Forcing herself to draw confidence, however shaky, from the idea, she looked up at Lucky. "Take me home."

-----

Sonny hung back a little and let Jason lead the way up to Ric's door. Truthfully, for what was coming, Sonny's wasn't in that much of a hurry. Let him haul ass to a repeat of every other visit they'd ever paid Ric. This was Jason's part of the mission, not his.

Jason assaulted the front door with a raucous knock and not ten seconds later, his brother, shithead on the reform, or so-called reform, as it were, tugged it open. Smiling in a way that always managed to irk something deep inside Sonny—he wasn't sure what, exactly—Ric leaned into the doorjamb.

"Jason. Sonny. What a pleasant surprise."

As anticipated, Jason didn't waste time on pleasantries (when had he ever?) or on formal invites; arm in a sling and all, he forced his way past Ric and into the house's living room. Sonny waited in the doorway. He promised Jason this, that didn't mean he had to participate.

"Well, come right in. I do so love it when mobsters invade my home."

"Just shut up, Ric," Jason snapped. "I don't have time for your crap right now."

"Is this sounding familiar to anyone else? Because I could have sworn that we _just_ had this conversation."

If not for the look of murder tugging at Jason's face, Sonny may have entertained the idea, however brief, of laughing out loud. His brother was a real piece of work. As Sonny figured, Ric either had quite a pair, or he was the dumbest man to walk the earth. Chances are it was a concoction of both, with a whole lot of Crazy thrown into the mix to even things out.

"Lansing…" Gravely and full of warning.

With another eerie smile, kinda like he was in on some joke no one else knew about, Ric relented and did a palms-out gesture of appeasement.

"Okay, okay," he said. "What is that I can do for you Jason?"

"You were an employee of Luis Alcazar, right?"

Now, baby brother's reaction to this question was interesting. To say the least. His back went stiff as a board and the derisive air that'd been hanging around him dissipated in the blink of an eye.

"For a time," came his taut reply.

"Then you're familiar with the Alcazars, where they had their base of operations?"

The arrogance seemed to have been bleached right from Ric's bones. Now the man nearly shivered with unease. "The work I did for Luis was mainly based out my offices. I hardly ever set foot in the compounds. Caracas or otherwise."

"Caracas?"

Ric flinched like someone had just poked him in the ass with a skewer; Jason tilted his head and absorbed the reaction. This was what Jason did. He studied people. And he could spot a lie with his eyes closed. Hell, the man could _feel_ deception. It was an uncanny sense. And it almost always proved an accurate one, too. And maybe that was why Sonny stood a little straighter in the doorway, and why he found himself paying close attention to what was unraveling before him.

"There's a compound in Caracas?" Jason asked again. "A main one?"

"I never said that."

Jason's jaw clenched and Sonny could easily recognize the amount of control his enforcer was exercising in this moment. "No, but the way you said it you made it sound like Caracas was more important than the other places. Is that were their hub is?"

"I—you shouldn't be asking me this," Ric stumbled. "I was only employed by them for a short while, my knowledge is limi—"

Apparently, control decided to take a vacation. Jason closed the gap between himself and Ric in such a way that the lawyer's words to died in his throat. "Remember when I said I didn't have time for your crap? It still applies. Alcazar just did something to me that he really should not have done and it's become my job to hunt him down and make him pay. But the only way I can do my job, Ric, is if you tell me everything you know about that family, and if you do it right now. Before you end up hurting yourself."

Ric's eyes bulged indignantly. "Are you threatening me?" But silence and a fierce glare were the only answers he received. Ric tilted his head in Sonny's direction perhaps for help, but, finding his brother's attention resolutely focused on the floor, pivoted his stare back to Jason, disbelief glinting in his eyes. "You're insane. I want you out of my house. Both of you."

"It doesn't work like that."

"The hell it doesn't!" Ric shrieked. "This is _my_ house. You don't come into my house and start throwing around threats for the second time in two days, Morgan!"

"I just did."

Ric blew out an incensed sigh and looked to Sonny. "Are you seriously going to just stand there while your goon bullies me in my own home? I thought we were moving past this, Sonny!"

Sonny shrugged, knowing he had to appear indifferent. Siding with Ric wasn't an option now. And beside, he wasn't even sure he wanted to, not with how this was beginning to feel. "He's just asking some questions, Ric. No need to get so riled-up."

"He's being hostile!"

"Yeah, well, Jason's tactics can take some getting used to. I'm sure he doesn't really mean it, if that helps any."

Ric clenched his eyes closed. "I can't believe I ever thought you could change," he said softly, more a declaration himself than anything else. "It's still the same damn story. Sonny and his thugs get to do whatever the hell they want so long as it benefits them. Never mind who they have to bulldoze in the process, right?" Ric paused and locked eyes with his brother, ravenous hatred, something Sonny had refused to see until now, pouring from his stare. And in this moment Sony knew Jason had been right. Ric wasn't interested in peace. And there was a good chance he never was. "You're still the same selfish bastard you always were." He pointed at the door. "I want you out. Now!"

Brother or not, truce or not—though that did seem an idea destined to wither on the vine now—Sonny didn't take well to being ordered around. He took a step into the house. "First off, we're not going anywhere until you tell us what you know. And secondly, you don't get to pass judgments on me, baby brother. Especially considering that all you've done since you got to this town is 'bulldoze' people to get to me. You're hardly one to talk."

"Those were mistakes!" Ric roared back. "Errors in judgment. But with you it's a permanent state of mind. Take what you want, to hell with the consequences."

Anger began a slow coil in Sonny's gut. Ric was right; this _was_ beginning to sound familiar. Sickeningly so. "I'm not the one making this about me, Ric. We're here to help a little girl, not hurt anyone."

"Oh, that's right," Ric cackled. "I forgot. Sonny, the Noble One, two steps away from being canonized. Heaven forbid I point out that you're standing in my home, using the silent promise of a broken neck to force me into cooperating with you, when, by the way, you don't even have solid proof that Lorenzo Alcazar is behind Emily's kidnapping at all!"

Sonny's gaze darkened. "Well, I guess there are a few other directions we could be looking in."

The insinuation, vague as it was, found its target. Ric faltered a moment and then narrowed his eyes. "That is a ridiculous accusation and you know it."

"I don't know anything, Ric, not for _sure_ anyway. As you just pointed out."

Ric shook his head miserably. "No, Sonny. You've got this one backwards. _You're_ the amoral gangster who treats people like pieces on a chess boards. _You're_ the disgusting excuse for a human being who goes on killing and taking what he thinks belongs to him without any sense of conscience or remorse! _You_ are the one who—"

"Do you even hear yourself?" It was Jason's voce this time. Busting open the air with the efficiency of a lightening bolt. Ric wheeled around. "This isn't about you or Sonny, or how much you hate him, Ric! This is about Emily!"

Ric swallowed hard, averting his gaze. "What happened to your sister is… unfortunate, but there's nothing I—"

"Have you ever talked to her?" Voice deceptively calm, Jason's eyes took on a new sheen of quiet desperation. "I mean, _really_ talked to her. Have you?"

"I—well, no. We've met briefly, but…"

Jason nodded. "Then you missed out, because she's… she's incredible. She really listens, you know? She doesn't just pretend to care about what you say, she actually does. And it's because she has this enormous heart. She loves so hard and she trusts, Ric. She trusts that in the end people will do what's right, not what's easy. I know it's misguided and naive but that's part of what makes her who she is. She believes in the good in people. And you know what? Despite everything you've done to Sonny and to our family she has _never_ said one ill word against you." With a piercing stare, Jason pinned an ill looking Ric to his spot. "She even went as far to say once that you're not a bad person and that you didn't _really_ want to cause the destruction that you did, but that your past messed you up."

Ric started shake his head in protest, a pained look on his face, but Jason pushed on.

"I've had to sit across from my baby sister, Ric, and listen to her tell me that, underneath everything, she didn't think you were really out to hurt anybody. And all that coming from a girl who never even met you. But then that's Emily. She gives people the benefit of the doubt and she puts herself in their shoes because she wants to understand them, not condemn them. She wanted to understand you, Ric, even after all the crap you pulled. And now you are in the position to help her, a girl who could have easily hated you but who doesn't, a girl who actually pleaded your case to me, and you won't. How the hell can you live with yourself!"

Ric stumbled over his words. "I… I don't know what you think I could possibly do—"

"Give us the locations of all the Alcazar properties and show us the compounds."

Ric's eyes bugged. "You want me to actually _take_ you to them?"

Jason nodded.

"I—no. Alcazar will kill me. I can't do th—"

"You said you wanted peace with Sonny, Ric. Prove it. Help us find her."

Silence fell over the Lansing house for a long, long moment. Ric, looking weighed down by some unbearable burden, looked at his brother, and then cast his eyes to the floor. He squeezed them shut and let out a shaky, one would almost think desperate, breath. To Sonny something about the moment felt final. Like in that instant a clear choice had been set in front of his brother. And he'd made it. "I'm… I'm sorry," Ric whispered. "But I have a wife to think about. I can't get in the middle of some mob war. I… I can't do what you're asking."

Sonny saw Jason's jaw give a dangerous twitch before it happened, but all the foresight in the world couldn't have stopped what went down next—Sonny doubted if even God himself could have. Jason reached around to the back of his jeans and pulled his spare gun, and had it cocked and leveled at Ric's head before the other man could even blink. Even after all these years Sonny still marveled at how fast the transformation between Jason, the caring man who was like a brother to him, and Jason, the killer-on-command, could take place. It was a startling thing to witness.

"See, here's the thing, Ric." Jason's voice was calm, cold, and completely detached—a true hallmark of his breed. "I'm not asking."

"What is going on here?"

All three men pivoted toward the voice and the open door.

It was Elizabeth.

-----

**TBC… **

**Next Chapter:** Elizabeth struggles with a horrible truth and a shocking discovery, Sonny receives a message, AJ makes an appearance, and Emily fights to stay indifferent in the face of an Alcazar family history lesson.

**(a/n):** Now, don't hate me for how I left it with Emily and Lorenzo. They'll be priority one next chapter. Expect LOTS of them.

So… on the whole, what did you guys think? I've been working with a new technique, more dialogue driven. Did it play okay? Should I go back to how I wrote it before? Can you even notice the difference? LOL. But I will tell you a secret about one of the reasons this chapter was so hard to write. Writing Ric like this is REALLY hard now. I hate making him all evil and slimy again, especially since we're getting Ric redemption in spades on the show. But, oh well. You gotta do what you gotta do, huh? And plus, things could always change down the road… lol. Okay, so that probably won't happen. I have totally sealed this guy's fate. ::sigh::

And don't worry. It WILL NOT take me five months or whatever (I actually lost count now, lol) to update again. I'm already nearly finished with chapter 13 and it seems my writer's block has up and cured itself. So… see you guys soon!

Oh, and before I go, please excuse any really obvious typos or flubs int his chapter. See, I had found a great Beta, but then she went and had a baby (the nerve! Lol) and I was left having to read through my own stuff again, which is never a good idea because I keep reading what should be there instead of is. So that brings me to my last it of business: If you're willing to beta read for me (as in read through my first draft and mark my grammatical and logistical mistakes that I need to correct) please email me or drop me a line my Live Journal. Both addresses are in my profile. Thanks!

--Loke

**P.S.** Psst! Hey Mo! You know that bit (the flashback thingy I needed help with), it got cut from this chapter but it WILL be in the next. Thanks bunches for that, too! :D


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